MINT 


A\ 


a  e  R  K  t  L  •  Y 

LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY    OF 

CALIFORNIA 


"LIKE    MY   JIBS?"    SAID    STOVER 


THE  VARMINT 


BT 

OWEN  JOHNSON 

Author    of    "The    Prodigious   Hickey," 
"  The  Humming  Bird,"  "  Max  Fargus"  etc. 


NEW  YORK 
THE  BAKER  &  TAYLOR  COMPANY 

1910 


EDUCATION  LIBS. 


COPYRIGHT,  1910,  BY 
THE  BAKER  &  TAYLOR  COMPANY 

Published,  July,  1910 
Third  Impression 


TO 

SUexanber  lanrtert,  JH.5 

IN  FRIENDSHIP,    IN  GRATITUDE, 
AND    IN    MEMORY    OF    MY  WIFE. 


MS98480 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

\ 


OPPOSITE 
PAGK 


" LIKE  MY  JIBS?"  SAID  STOVER        ....      frontispiece 
1 '  WHY,    SOME    OF   '  EM    ARE   SO    SLICK  ....  I    LOCK 


u CRACKY,     WHAT    A    PRIZE!     SAY,     I'D    LIKE    TO 

70 


1  'BEHIND  HIM,  PELLMELL,  SHRIEKING  AND  MUR- 
DEROUS ....  CAME  THE  VANQUISHED "    .      .  86 


EACH  MEMBER  OF  THE  OUTRAGED  NINE  CLIMBED 

TO  THE  TRANSOM" 88 

1  NOTHING  IN  YOUR  CAREER  HAS  INDICATED  TO  ME 

YOUR  FITNESS  FOR  SUCH  A  RESPONSIBILITY ' '       344 


THE  VARMINT 


THE  VARMINT 


[When  young  Stover  disembarked  at  the  Tren- 
ton station  on  the  fourth  day  after  the  opening 
of  the  spring  term  he  had  acquired  in  his  brief 
journey  so  much  of  the  Pennsylvania  rolling 
stock  as  could  be  detached  and  concealed.  In- 
serted between  his  nether  and  outer  shirts  were 
two  gilt  "  Directions  to  Travelers  "  which  clung 
like  mustard  plasters  to  his  back,  while  a  jagged 
tin  sign,  wrenched  from  the  home  terminal, 
embraced  his  stomach  with  the  painful  tenacity 
of  the  historic  Spartan  fox.  In  his  pockets 
were  objects — small  objects  but  precious  and 
dangerous  to  unscrew  and  acquire. 

Being  forced  to  wait,  he  sat  now,  preternatu- 
rally  stiff,  perched  on  a  heap  of  trunks,  clutch- 
ing a  broken  dress-suit  case  which  had  been 
re-enforced  with  particolored  strings. 

There  was  about  young  Stover,  when  properly 
washed,  a  certain  air  of  cherubim  that  instantly 
struck  the  observer;  his  tousled  tow  hair  had  a 
cathedral  tone,  his  cheek  was  guileless  and  his 
big  blue  eyes  had  an  upward  cast  toward  the 
angels  which,  as  in  the  present  moment  when  he 
[11] 


THE   VARMINT 

was  industriously  exchanging  a  check  labeled 
Baltimore  to  a  trunk  bound  for  Jersey  City, 
was  absolutely  convincing.  But  from  the  limit 
whence  the  cherub  continueth  not  the  imp 
began.  His  collar  was  crumpled  and  smutty 
with  the  descent  of  many  signs,  a  salmon-pink 
necktie  had  quarreled  with  a  lavender  shirt 
and  retreated  toward  one  ear,  one  cuff  had 
broken  loose  and  one  sulked  up  the  sleeve.  His 
green  serge  pockets  bulged  in  every  direction, 
while  the  striped  blue-and- white  trousers,  al- 
ready outgrown,  stuck  to  the  knees  and  halted 
short  of  a  pair  of  white  socks  that  in  turn  dis- 
appeared into  a  pair  of  razor-pointed  patent- 
leathers. 

Young  Stover's  career  at  Miss  WandelPs 
Select  Academy  for  boys  and  girls  had  been  a 
tremendous  success,  for  it  had  ended  in  a  frank 
confession  on  Miss  WandelPs  part  that  her 
limited  curriculum  was  inadequate  for  the  ab- 
normal activities  of  dangerous  criminals. 

As  Stover  completed  the  transfer  of  the  last 
trunk-checks  the  stage  for  Lawrenceville 
plodded  cumbrously  up,  and  from  the  box 
Jimmy  hailed  him. 

"Eh,  there,  young  Sporting  Life,  bound  for 
Lawrenceville?  Step  lively." 

Stover  swung  up,  gingerly  pushing  ahead  of 
him  the  battered  bag. 

[13] 


THE   VARMINT 

"  Lawrenceville?  "  said  the  driver,  looking  at 
it  suspiciously. 

"  Eight  the  first  time." 

"  What  house?  " 

"  Oh,  the  Green  will  be  good  enough  for  me." 

"Well,  tuck  in  above." 

"  Thanks,  I'll  cuddle  here,"  said  Stover,  slip- 
ping into  the  seat  next  to  him,  "just  to  look 
over  the  way  you  handle  the  ribbons  and  see  if 
I  approve." 

Jimmy,  connoisseur  of  new  arrivals,  glanced 
behind  at  the  only  other  passenger,  a  man  of 
consular  mould,  and  then  looked  at  Stover  in 
sardonic  amusement. 

"  Don't  look  at  me  like  that,  old  Sport,"  said 
Stover  impressively ;  "  I've  driven  real  coaches, 
sixteen  horses,  rip-snorters,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing." 

Jimmy,  having  guided  the  placid  animals 
through  the  labyrinths  of  Trenton,  gave  them 
the  rein  on  the  long  highway  that  leads  to  Law- 
renceville and  turned  to  examine  Stover  with 
new  relish. 

"  Say,  Bub,"  he  said  at  length,  "  you're  goin' 
to  have  a  great  time  at  this  little  backwoods 
school — you're  going  to  enjoy  yourself." 

"Think  I'm  fresh,  eh?" 

"  Fresh?  "  said  Jimmy  thoughtfully.     "  Why, 
fresh  ain't  at  all  the  word." 
[13] 


THE   VARMINT 

"  Well,  I  can  take  care  of  myself." 

"  What  did  they  fire  you  for?  "  said  Jimmy, 
touching  up  the  horses. 

"Who  said  they  fired  me?"  said  Stover,  sur- 
prised. 

"Well,  what  was  it?"  said  Jimmy,  disdain- 
ing an  explanation. 

"They  fired  me,"  said  Stover,  hesitating  a 
moment — "they  fired  me  for  trying  to  kill  a 
man." 

"You  don't  say  so!" 

"  I  drew  a  knife  on  him,"  said  Stover  rapidly. 
"  I'd  'a'  done  for  him,  too,  the  coward,  if  they 
hadn't  hauled  me  off." 

At  this  there  was  a  chuckle  from  the  passen- 
ger behind  who  said  with  great  solemnity : 

"  Dear  me,  dear  me,  a  dreadful  state  of  af- 
fairs— quite  thrilling." 

"  I  saw  red,  everything — everything  red," 
said  Stover,  breathing  hard. 

"What  had  he  done  to  you?"  said  Jimmy, 
winking  at  Mr.  Hopkins,  alias  Lucius  Cassius, 
alias  The  Roman,  master  of  the  Latin  line  and 
distinguished  flunker  of  boys. 

"  He  insulted  my — my  mother." 

"  Your  mother?  " 

"She — she's  dead,"  said  Stover  in  a  stage 
voice  he  remembered. 

[14] 


THE    VARMINT 

At  this  Jimmy  and  Mr.  Hopkins  stopped,  gen- 
uinely perplexed,  and  looked  hard  at  Stover. 

"You  don't  mean  it!  Dear  me,"  said  The  Ro- 
man, hesitating  before  a  possible  blunder. 

"  It  was  long  ago,"  said  Stover,  thrilling  with 
the  delight  of  authorship.  "  She  died  in  a  ship- 
wreck to  save  me." 

The  Roman  was  nonplussed.  There  was  al- 
ways the  possibility  that  the  story  might  be  true. 

"Ah,  she  gave  her  life  to  save  yours,  eh?" 
he  said  encouragingly. 

"  Held  my  head  above  water,  breeches  buoy 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing,"  said  Stover,  remem- 
bering something  in  Dickens.  "I  was  the  only 
one  saved,  me  and  the  ship's  cat." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  The  Roman,  with  a  return 
of  confidence;  "and  your  father — is  he  alive?" 

"Yes,"  said  Stover,  considering  the  distant 
woods;  "but — but  we  don't  speak  of  him." 

"  Ah,  pardon  me,"  said  The  Roman,  gazing  on 
him  with  wonder.  "Painful  memories — of 
course,  of  course.  And  what  happened  to  your 
brother?  " 

Stover,  perceiving  the  note  of  skepticism, 
turned  and  looked  The  Roman  haughtily  in  the 
face,  then,  turning  to  Jimmy,  he  said  in  a  half 
whisper : 

"  Who's  the  old  buck,  anyhow?  " 
[15] 


THE    VARMINT 

Jimmy  stiffened  on  the  box  as  though  he  had 
received  an  electric  shock;  then,  biting  his  lips, 
he  answered  with  a  vicious  lunge  at  the  horses : 

"  Oh,  he  comes  back  and  forth  every  now  and 
then." 

They  were  now  in  the  open  country,  rolling 
steadily  past  fields  of  sprouting  things,  with  the 
warm  scent  of  new-plowed  earth  borne  to  them 
on  the  gentle  April  breeze. 

All  of  a  sudden  Stover  seemed  to  dive  side- 
ways from  the  coach  and  remained  suspended 
by  his  razor-tipped  patent-leathers. 

"  Hi,  there ! "  cried  Jimmy,  bringing  the  coach 
to  a  stop  with  a  jerk,  "  what  are  you  trying  to 
do?" 

Stover  reappeared. 

"  Seeing  if  there  are  any  females  inside." 

"What's  that  to  you?"  said  Jimmy  indig- 
nantly. 

"  Keep  your  eye  peeled  and  I'll  show  you," 
said  the  urchin,  standing  up,  freeing  his  belt 
and  unbuttoning  his  vest.  In  a  moment,  by  a 
series  of  contortions,  he  drew  forth  the  three 
signs  and  proudly  displayed  them. 

"See  these  gilt  ones,"  he  said  confidentially 
to  the  astounded  Roman,  "got  'em  in  the 
open  car;  stood  right  up  and  unscrewed  them — 
penal  offense,  my  boy.  The  tin  one  was  easier, 
but  it's  a  beaut.  'No  loitering  on  these  prem- 
[16] 


THE   VARMINT 

ises.'  Cast  your  eye  over  that,"  he  added,  pass- 
ing it  to  The  Roman,  who,  as  he  gravely  re- 
ceived it,  gave  Jimmy  a  dig  that  cut  short  a  fit 
of  coughing. 

"Pretty  fine,  eh?"  said  Stover. 

"  Em,  yes,  quite  extraordinary — quite  so." 

"  And  what  do  you  think  of  these?  "  continued 
Stover,  producing  two  silver  nickel-plated  knobs 
ravished  from  the  washbasin.  "  '  Pull  and 
Push ' — that's  my  motto.  Say,  Bill,  how  does 
that  strike  you?  " 

The  Roman  examined  them  and  handed  them 
back. 

"  You'll  find  it  rather — rather  slow  at  the 
school,  won't  you?" 

"  Oh,  I'll  put  ginger  into  it." 

"  Indeed." 

"What's  your  line  of  goods,  old  Sport?  "  said 
Stover,  examining  Mr.  Hopkins  with  a  knowing 
eye. 

"  Books,"  said  The  Roman  with  a  slight  jerk 
of  Ms  thin  lips. 

"I  see!" 

Jimmy  stopped  the  horses  and  went  behind, 
ostensibly  to  see  if  the  door  was  swinging. 

"  Let  me  drive?  "  said  Stover,  fidgeting  after 
a  moment's  contemplation  of  Jimmy's  method. 
"I'll  show  you  a  thing  or  two." 

"Oh,  you  will,  will  you?" 
[17] 


THE   VARMINT 

"  Let's  have  'em." 

Jimmy  looked  inquiringly  at  Mr.  Hopkins 
and,  receiving  a  nod,  transferred  the  reins  and 
whip  to  Stover,  who  immediately  assumed  a 
Wild  West  attitude  and  said  patronizingly: 

"  Say,  you  don't  get  the  speed  out  of  'em." 

"I  don't,  eh?" 

«  Naw." 

They  were  at  that  moment  reaching  the  brink 
of  a  hill,  with  a  sharp  though  short  descent  be- 
low. 

"In  my  country,"  said  Stover  professionally, 
"  we  call  a  man  who  uses  a  brake  a  candy  dude. 
The  trick  is  to  gallop  'em  down  the  hills.  Hang 
on!" 

Before  he  could  be  stopped  he  sprang  up  with 
an  ear-splitting  war-whoop  and  brought  the 
whip  down  with  a  stinging  blow  over  the  ears 
of  the  indignant  horses,  who  plunged  forward 
with  a  frightened  leap.  The  coach  rose  and 
rocked,  narrowly  missing  overturning  in  its  sud- 
den headlong  course.  Jimmy  clamped  on  the 
brakes,  snatched  the  reins  and  brought  the 
plunging  team  to  a  stop  after  narrowly  missing 
the  gutter.  Stover,  saved  from  a  headlong  jour- 
ney only  by  the  iron  grip  of  The  Roman,  had  a 
moment  of  horrible  fear.  But  immediately  re- 
covering his  self-possession  he  said  gruffly: 

"All  right,  let  go  of  me." 
[18] 


THE   VARMINT 

"  What  in  blazes  were  you  trying  to  do,  you 
young  anarchist?  "  cried  Jimmy,  turning  on  him 
wrathfully. 

"Gee!  Why  don't  you  drive  a  couple  of 
cows?"  said  Stover  in  disgust  "Why,  in  my 
parts  we  alway  drive  on  two  wheels." 

"  Two  wheels ! "  said  Jimmy  scornfully. 
"  Guess  you  never  drove  anything  that  did  have 
four  wheels  but  a  baby-buggy." 

But  Stover,  as  though  discouraged,  disdained 
to  reply,  and  sat  in  moody  silence. 

The  Roman,  who  was  still  interested  in  a  pos- 
sible brother  or  two,  strove  in  vain  to  draw  him 
out.  Stover  wrapped  himself  in  a  majestic  si- 
lence. Despite  himself,  the  mystery  of  the  dis- 
coverer was  upon  him.  His  glance  fastened 
itself  on  the  swelling  horizon  for  the  school  that 
suddenly  was  to  appear. 

"  How  many  fellows  have  you  got  here?  "  he 
said  all  at  once  to  Jimmy. 

"  About  four  hundred." 

"  As  much  as  that?  " 

«  Sure." 

"  Big  fellows?  " 

"  Sizable." 

«  How  big? " 

"  Two-hundred-pounders." 

"When  do  we  see  the  school?" 

"  Top  of  next  hill." 

[19] 


THE   VARMINT 

The  Roman  watched  him  from  the  corner  of 
his  eye,  interested  in  his  sudden  shift  of  mood. 

"What  kind  of  a  football  team  did  they 
have?"  said  Stover. 

"  Scored  on  the  Princeton  'Varsity." 

"  Jemima !    You  don't  say  so ! " 

"  Eight  to  four." 

"Great  Heavens!" 

"Only  game  they  lost." 

"The  Princeton  championship  team,  too," 
said  Stover,  who  was  not  deficient  in  historical 
athletics.  "Say,  how's  the  nine  shaping  up?" 

"  It's  a  winner." 

All  at  once  Jimmy  extended  his  whip.  "  There 
it  is,  over  there — you'll  get  the  water  tower 
first" 

Stover  stood  up  reverentially.  Across  the 
dip  and  swell  of  the  hills  a  cluster  of  slated 
roofs,  a  glimpse  of  red  brick  through  the  trees, 
a  touch  of  brownstone,  a  water  tower  in  sharp 
outline  against  the  sky,  suddenly  rose  from  the 
horizon.  A  continent  had  been  discovered,  the 
land  of  possible  dreams. 

"  It's  ripping — ripping,  isn't  it?  "  he  said,  still 
standing  eagerly. 

The  Roman,  gazing  on  it  for  the  thousandth 
time,  shook  his  head  in  musing  agreement. 

Across  the  fields  came  the  stolid  ringing  of 
the  school  bell,  ringing  a  hundred  laggards 
[20] 


THE   VARMINT 

across  the  budding  campus  to  hard  seats  and 
blackboarded  walls,  ringing  with  its  lengthened, 
slow-dying,  never-varying  note. 

"That  the  bell?"  said  Stover,  rebelling  al- 
ready at  its  summons. 

"  That's  it,"  said  Jimmy. 

Stover  sat  down,  his  chin  in  his  hands,  his 
elbows  on  his  knees,  gazing  eagerly  forward, 
asking  questions. 

"  I  say,  where's  the  Green  House?  " 

"Ahead  on  your  left — directly." 

"  That  old,  stone,  block-house  affair?  " 

«  You  win." 

"Why,  it's  not  on  the  campus." 

"No,  it  ain't,"  said  Jimmy,  flicking  the  flies 
off  the  near  horse;  "but  they've  got  a  warm 
bunch  of  Indians  all  the  same."  Then,  remem- 
bering the  Wild- Western  methods  of  driving,  he 
added :  "  Don't  forget  about  the  ginger.  Sock 
it  to  them.  Fare,  please." 

"  I'll  sock  it,"  said  Stover  with  a  knowing  air. 
"  I  may  be  tender,  but  I'm  not  green." 

He  slapped  a  coin  into  the  outstretched  hand 
and  reached  back  for  the  battle-scarred  valise, 
to  perceive  the  keen  eye  of  Mr.  Hopkins  set  on 
him  with  anmsement. 

"Well,  Sport,  ta-ta,  and  good  luck,"  said 
Stover,  who  had  mentally  ticketed  him  as  a  com- 
mercial traveler.  "  Hope  you  sell  out." 

[31] 


THE   VARMINT 

"Thanks,"  said  Mr.  Hopkins,  with  a  twitch 
to  his  lip.  "  Now  just  one  word  to  the  wise." 

"What's  that?" 

"  Don't  get  discouraged." 

"  Discouraged ! "  said  Stover  disdainfully. 
"Why,  old  Cocky- wax,  put  this  in  your  pipe 
and  smoke  it — I'm  going  to  own  this  house.  In 
a  week  I'll  have  'em  feeding  from  my  hand." 

He  sprang  down  eagerly.  Before  him,  at  the 
end  of  a  flagged  walk,  under  the  heavy  boughs  of 
evergreens,  was  a  two-story  building  of  stone, 
and  under  the  Colonial  portico  a  group  curiously 
watching  the  new  arrival. 

The  coach  groaned  and  pulled  heavily  away. 
He  was  alone  at  the  end  of  the  interminable 
stone  walk,  clutching  a  broken-down  bag  ridicu- 
lously mended  with  strings,  face  to  face  with 
the  task  of  approaching  with  dignity  and  ease 
these  suddenly  discovered  critics  of  his  exist- 
ence. 


[23] 


II 


In  all  his  fifteen  years  Stover  "had  never  been 
accused  of  standing  in  awe  of  anything  or  any- 
body ;  but  at  the  present  mioment,  as  he  balanced 
from  foot  to  foot,  calculating  the  unending  dis- 
tance of  the  stone  flags,  he  was  suddenly  seized 
with  an  overpowering  impulse  to  bolt.  And  yet 
the  group  at  the  steps  were  only  mildly  inter- 
ested. An  urchin  pillowed  on  the  knees  of  a 
Goliath  had  shifted  so  as  languidly  to  command 
the  approach;  a  baseball,  traveling  back  and 
forth  in  lazy  flight,  had  stopped  only  a  moment, 
and  then  continued  from  hand  to  hand. 

Stover  had  thought  of  his  future  associates 
without  much  trepidation,  as  he  had  thought  of 
the  Faculty  as  Miss  Wandell  in  trousers — be- 
ing inferior  to  him  in  mental  agility  and  re- 
sourcefulness who,  he  confidently  intended, 
should  ,shortly  follow  his  desires. 

All  at  once,  before  he  had  spoken  a  word,  be- 
fore he  had  even  seen  the  look  on  their  counte- 
nances, he  realized  that  he  stood  on  the  threshold 
of  a  new  world,  a  system  of  society  of  which  he 
was  ignorant  and  by  whose  undivined  laws  he 
was  suddenly  to  be  judged. 
[23] 


THE    VARMINT 

Everything  was  wrong  and  strangely  uncom- 
fortable. His  derby  hat  was  too  small — as  it 
was — and  must  look  ridiculous;  his  trousers 
were  short  and  his  arms  seemed  to  rush  from 
his  sleeves.  He  tried  desperately  to  thrust  back 
the  cuff  that  had  broken  loose  and  stooped  for 
his  bag.  It  would  have  been  wiser  to  have  em- 
braced it  bodily,  but  he  breathed  a  prayer  and 
grasped  the  handle.  Then  he  started  up  the 
walk ;  half  way,  the  handle  tore  out  and  the  bag 
went  down  with  a  crash. 

He  dove  at  it  desperately,  poking  back  the 
threatened  avalanche  of  linen,  and  clutching  it 
in  his  arms  as  a  bachelor  carries  a  baby,  started 
blindly  for  the  house. 

A  roar  of  laughter  had  gone  up  at  his  dis- 
comfiture, succeeded  by  a  sudden,  solemn  si- 
lence. Then  the  White  Mountain  Canary  pil- 
lowed against  the  knees  of  Cheyenne  Baxter, 
spoke : 

"No  old  clothes,  Moses;  nothing  to  sell  to- 
day." 

At  this  Butsey  White's  lathery  face  suddenly 
appeared  at  the  second-story  window. 

"  He  doesn't  want  to  buy — he  wants  to  sell  us 
something,"  he  said.  "Patent  underwear  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing." 

Stover,  red  to  the  ears,  advanced  to  the  steps 
and  stopped. 

[24] 


THE    VARMINT 

"Well?"  said  the  Coffee-colored  Angel  as  the 
guardian  of  the  steps. 

"  I'm  the  new  boy,"  said  Stover  in  a  gentle 
voice. 

"The  what?" 

"The  new  boy." 

"  Impossible ! " 

"He's  not!" 

"New  boys  always  say  'sir,'  and  take  off 
their  hats  politely." 

The  White  Mountain  Canary  looked  at  Tough 
McCarty,  who  solemnly  interrogated  the  Coffee- 
colored  Angel,  who  shook  his  head  in  utter  dis- 
belief and  said: 

"  I  don't  believe  it.  It's  a  blind.  I  wouldn't 
let  him  in  the  house." 

"  Please,  sir,"  said  Stover  hastily,  doffing  his 
derby,  "I  am." 

"  Prove  it,"  said  a  voice  behind  him. 

"  Say,  I'm  not  as  green  as  all  that," 

Stover  smiled  a  sickly  smile,  shifted  from  foot 
to  foot  and  glanced  hopefully  at  his  fellow-imps 
to  surprise  a  look  of  amusement.  But  as  every 
face  remained  blank,  serious  and  extremely 
critical,  the  smile  disappeared  in  a  twinkling 
and  his  glance  went  abruptly  to  his  toes. 

"He  certainly  should  prove  it,"  said  the 
Coffee-colored  Angel  anxiously.  "  Can  you 
prove  it?  " 

[25] 


THE   VARMINT 

Stover  gingerly  placed  the  gaping  valise  on 
the  top  step  and  fumbled  in  his  pockets. 

"  Please,  sir,  I  have  a  letter  from — from  the 
Doctor,"  he  blurted  out,  finally  extracting  a 
crumpled  envelope  and  tendering  it  to  the 
Coffee-colored  Angel,  who  looked  it  over  with 
well-simulated  surprise  and  solemnly  an- 
nounced : 

"  My  goodness  gracious !  Why,  it  is  the  new 
boy!" 

Instantly  there  was  a  change. 

"Freshman,  what's  your  name?"  said  little 
Susie  Satterly  in  his  deepest  tones. 

«  Stover." 

"  Sir." 

"  Sir." 

"  What's  your  full  name?  " 

"John  Humperdink  Stover,  sir." 

"  Humper— what?  " 

"Dink." 

"  Say  it  again." 

"  Humperdink." 

"  Say  it  for  me,"  said  the  Coffee-colored  Angel, 
with  his  hand  to  his  ear. 

"  Humperdink." 

"  Accent  the  last  syllable." 

"  Humper— DINK  ! " 

"Are  you  trying  to  bluff  us,  Freshman?  "  said 
Cheyenne  Baxter  severely. 
[26] 


THE   VARMINT 

"No,  sir;  that's  my  real  name." 

"Humperdink?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Well,  Rinky  Dink,  you're  got  a  rotten  name." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Stover,  who  never  before  had 
felt  such  a  longing  to  agree. 

"How  old?" 

"Fifteen,  sir." 

"Weight?" 

"  One  hundred  and  thirty,  sir." 

"Ever  been  in  love?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Ever  served  a  penal  sentence?" 

"No,  sir." 

"  Then  where  did  you  get  these  clothes?  " 

The  group  slowly  circulated  about  the  embar- 
rassed Stover,  scanning  the  amazing  costume. 
Cheyenne  Baxter  took  up  the  inquisition. 

"  Say,  Dink,  honest,  are  these  your  own 
clothes?"  he  said  with  a  knowing  look. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Now,  honest,"  continued  Cheyenne  in  a  whis- 
per, bending  forward  and  putting  his  hand  to 
his  ear  as  though  inviting  a  confidence. 

Stover  felt  suddenly  as  though  his  own  ears 
were  swelling  to  alarming  proportions — swelling 
and  perceptibly  reddening. 

"What  do  they  feed  you  on,  Rinky  Dink?" 
said  the  White  Mountain  Canary  softly. 
[27] 


THE   VARMINT 

"  Feed?  "  said  Stover  unwarily,  not  perceiving 
the  intent  of  the  question. 

"  Do  they  give  you  many  green  vegetables?  " 

Stover  tried  to  laugh  appreciatively,  but  the 
sound  fizzled  dolefully  out. 

"Because,  Dink,"  said  the  White  Mountain 
Canary  earnestly,  "  you  must  not  eat  green  vege- 
tables, really  you  must  not.  You're  green 
enough  already." 

"Why  did  they  fire  you?"  said  Tough  Me- 
Carty. 

Stover  raised  his  eyes  instinctively.  There 
was  a  new  accent  to  the  inquisition,  different 
from  all  the  other  questions  he  had  run.  He 
looked  at  Tough  McCarty's  stocky  frame  and  bat- 
tling eyes,  and  suddenly  knew  that  he  was  face 
to  face  with  a  human  being  between  whom  and 
himself  there  could  never  be  a  question  of  com- 
promise or  quarter. 

"Well,  Freshman,"  said  McCarty  impatiently. 

"What  did  you  ask  me?  "  said  Dink  purposely. 

«  Sir." 

«  Sir." 

"What  did  they  fire  you  for?" 

"They  fired  me,"  began  Stover  slowly,  and 
then  stopped  to  reconsider.  The  story  he  had 
told  on  the  coach,  somehow,  did  not  seem  quite 
in  place  here.  The  role  of  firebrand  and  hot- 
head, drawing  villainous  knives  on  frightened 
[28] 


THE   VARMINT 

boys,  would  not  quite  convince  his  present  audi- 
ence. To  tell  the  truth  was  impossible — to  ad- 
mit himself  the  product  of  Miss  Wandell's  and 
coeducation  would  be  fatal — and  likewise  the 
truth  was,  in  his  philosophy  (and  be  this  re- 
membered), only  a  lazy  expedient  to  a  man  of 
imagination.  So  he  said  slowly: 

"  They  fired  me  for  bringing  in  a  couple  of 
rattlesnakes  and — and  assaulting  a  teacher." 

"  My!  You  are  a  bad  man,  aren't  you?  "  said 
Tough  McCarty  seriously.  "I'm  afraid  you're 
too  dangerous  for  the  Green,  Dink.  Really  I 
do." 

"  He  does  look  devilishly  wicked,  Tough." 

"Assaulting  a  teacher — how  broo-tal." 

"Why,  Rinky  Dink,"  said  the  Coffee-colored 
Angel  sadly,  "don't  you  know  that  was  very 
wicked  of  you?  You  should  love  your  teach- 
ers." 

Stover  suddenly  perceived  that  his  audience 
was  unsympathetic. 

"  Don't  you  know  you  should  love  your  teach- 
ers?" 

Stover  essayed  a  grin,  then  looked  at  the 
ground  and  stirred  up  a  stone  with  his  foot. 

"So  you're  fond  of  rattlesnakes?"  said  Mc- 
Carty, persisting. 

«Ye-es,  sir." 

"(Very  fond?" 

[29] 


THE    VARMINT 

"I  was  brought  up  with  them,"  said  Stover, 
trying  to  fortify  his  position. 

"  You  Son't  mean  it,"  said  McCarty,  looking 
hard  at  Baxter.  "  Cheyenne,  he's  just  the  man 
to  train  up  that  little  pet  rattler  of  yours." 

"Just  the  thing,"  said  Cheyenne  instantly; 
"  we'll  let  him  take  out  the  fangs." 

Stover  smiled  a  superior  smile;  he  was  not  to 
be  caught  on  such  tales. 

"What  are  you  smiling  at,  Freshman?"  said 
McCarty  immediately. 

"  Nothing,  sir." 

Butsey  White,  at  the  second-story  window, 
scanning  the  road,  perceived  Mr.  Jenkins  ap- 
proaching, and  announced  the  fact,  adding: 

"  Send  him  up ;  he  belongs  to  me." 

"  Make  a  nice  bow,  Freshman,"  said  McCarty. 
"  Take  your  hat  off,  keep  your  heels  together. 
Oh,  that  wasn't  a  very  nice  bow.  Try  again." 

At  this  moment  Jimmy,  returning  on  the  stage, 
reined  in  with  a  sudden  interest.  Stover  hastily 
executed  a  series  of  grotesque  inclinations  and, 
grasping  the  clumsy  valise,  disappeared  behind 
the  door,  hearing,  as  he  struggled  up  the  stairs, 
the  roar  from  without  that  greeted  his  depar- 
ture. 

"  The  freshest  of  the  fresh." 

"Green  all  over." 

"Will  we  tame  him?" 
[30] 


THE   VARMINT 

"Oh,  no!" 

"And  Butsey's  got  him." 

"  Humper — DINK  ! " 

"Wow!" 

As  Stover  reached  the  head  of  the  stairs  a  door 
was  thrown  open  and  Butsey  White  appeared  in 
undress  uniform.  The  next  moment  Stover 
found  himself  in  a  large  double  room  gorgeously 
decorated  with  flags,  pennants,  sporting  prints 
and  souvenirs,  while  through  the  open  window 
came  a  grateful  feeling  of  quiet  and  repose. 

Butsey  White,  a  roly-poly,  comical  fellow  of 
sixteen  or  seventeen,  with  a  shaving-brush  in 
one  hand,  held  out  the  other  with  an  expression 
of  lathery  solicitude. 

"Well,  Stover,  how  are  you?  How  did  you 
leave  mother  and  the  chickens?  My  name's 
White.  Mr.  White,  please.  I'm  most  particu- 
lar." 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  White?"  said  Stover, 
recovering  some  of  his  composure. 

"There's  your  kennel,"  said  Butsey  White, 
indicating  the  bed.  "The  washtrough's  over 
here.  Bath's  down  the  corridor.  Do  you 
snore?" 

"What?"  said  Stover,  taken  back. 

"Oh,  never  mind.  If  you  do  I'll  cure  you," 
said  White  encouragingly.  "  What  did  they  fire 
you  for?" 

[31] 


THE    VARMIXT 

Stover,  smarting  at  Ms  humiliation  below, 
seized  the  opportunity  for  revenge. 

"  They  fired  me  for  drinking  the  alcohol  out 
of  the  lamps,"  he  said  with  his  most  convincing 
smile. 

Butsey  White,  who  had  returned  to  the  pain- 
ful task  of  shaving,  suddenly  straightened  up 
and  extended  the  deadly  razor  in  angry  rebuke. 

"There's  a  little  too  much  persiflage  around 
here,"  he  said  sternly.  "  We  don't  like  it.  We 
prefer  to  see  young,  unripe  freshmen  come  in  on 
their  tiptoes  and  answer  when  they're  spoken 
to.  Young  Stover,  you've  got  in  wrong.  You're 
just  about  the  freshest  cargo  we've  ever  had. 
You've  got  a  lot  to  learn,  and  I'm  going  to  start 
right  in  educating  you.  Savez?  " 

"It  was  only  a  joke,"  said  Stover,  looking 
down. 

"A  joke!  I'll  attend  to  any  joking  around 
here,"  said  Butsey,  with  a  reckless  wave  of  his 
razor.  "There  may  be  a  few  patent,  nickel- 
plated  jokes  roaming  around  here,  soon,  you 
hadn't  thought  of.  Now,  what  did  they  fire  you 
for?  " 

"  They  fired  me  for  kissing  a  teacher." 

"A  teacher?" 

"The  drawing  teacher,"  said  Stover  hastily, 
perceiving  the  danger  of  the  new  assertion. 

The  old  boy  looked  at  him  hard,  gave  a  sort 
[32] 


THE   VARMINT 

of  grunt  and,  turning  his  back,  took  up  again 
the  interrupted  task  of  shaving.  Stover,  a  little 
dismayed  at  his  own  audacity,  sought  to  concili- 
ate his  future  roommate. 

"Mister  White,  I  say,  where'll  I  stow  my 
duds? " 

No  answer. 

"  Pm  sorry — I  didn't  mean  to  be  fresh.  Which 
is  my  bureau?" 

The  razor,  suddenly  extended,  pointed  between 
the  windows.  Stover,  crestfallen,  hastily  sorted 
out  the  contents  of  his  bag  and  silently  ranged 
collars  and  neckties,  waiting  hopefully  for  a 
word.  Suddenly  he  remembered  the  properties 
of  the  Pennsylvania  Railroad  and,  sorting  out 
the  signs,  he  advanced  on  Butsey  White,  say- 
ing: 

"  I  brought  these  along — thought  they  might 
help  decorate  the  room,  Mr.  White." 

Butsey  White  gazed  at  the  three  stolen  signs 
and  grunted  a  somewhat  mollified  approval. 

"Got  anything  else?" 

"A  couple  of  sporting  prints  coming  in  the 
trunk,  sir." 

"  You  want  to  get  everything  you  can  lay  your 
hands  on  when  you  go  home.  Now  run  on  down 
and  report  to  Fuzzy- Wuzzy — Mr,  Jenkins.  He'll 
be  waiting  for  you.  After  lunch  I'll  take  you 
up  to  the  village  and  fit  you  out." 
[33] 


THE   VARMINT 

"  I  say,  that's  awfully  good  of  you*" 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right" 

"  Say,  I  didn't  mean  to  be  fresh." 

"  Well,  you  were," 

White,  having  carefully  noted  the  ravages  of 
the  razor,  turned  from  the  looking-glass  and  sur- 
veyed the  penitent  Stover. 

"Well,  what  did  they  fire  you  for?"  he  said 
point-blank. 

"  They  fired  me "  began  Stover  slowly,  and 

stopped. 

"Out  with  it,"  said  Butsey  militantly. 

But  at  that  moment  the  voice  of  Mr.  Jenkins 
summoned  Stover  below,  and  left  the  great  ques- 
tion unanswered. 


[34] 


Ill 

The  interview  with  the  house  master  was  not 
trying.  Mr.  Jenkins  was  a  short,  fuzzy  little 
man,  who  looked  him  over  with  nervous  concern, 
calculating  what  new  strain  on  his  temper  had 
arrived;  introduced  him  to  Mrs.  Jenkins,  and 
seized  the  occasion  of  the  luncheon-bell  to  cut 
short  the  conversation. 

At  lunch  Stover  committed  an  unpardonable 
error  which  only  those  who  have  suffered  can 
understand — he  sent  his  plate  up  for  a  second 
helping  of  prunes. 

"What  in  the  name  of  peanuts  did  you  do 
that  for?"  said  Butsey  in  a  whisper,  while  the 
Coffee-colored  Angel  jabbed  him  with  his  elbow 
and  trod  on  his  toes.  "  Now  you  have  put  your 
foot  in  it!" 

Stover  looked  up  to  behold  every  countenance 
grim  and  outraged. 

"What's  wrong?"  he  said  in  a  whisper. 

"  Wrong?  Didn't  you  ever  have  prunes  and 
skimmed  milk  before,  thousands  and  thousands 
of  times?" 

"Yes,  but » 

"You  don't  like  'em,  do  you?" 

«  Why,  I  don't  know." 
[35] 


THE    VARMINT 

"Do  you  want  to  have  them  five  times  a  week 
— in  springtime?" 

The  plate,  bountifully  helped,  returned  from 
hand  to  hand  down  the  table,  laden  with  prunes 
and  maledictions. 

"  I  didn't  know,"  Stover  said  apologetically. 

"  Well,  now  you  know,"  said  the  Coffee-colored 
Angel  vindictively,  "  don't  you  so  much  as  stir 
'em  with  your  spoon.  Don't  you  dare ! " 

Stover,  being  thus  forbidden,  calmly,  wickedly, 
chuckling  inwardly,  emptied  his  plate,  smacked 
his  lips  and  exclaimed: 

"My!  those  are  delicious.  Pass  my  plate  up 
for  some  more,  will  you,  Mr.  White?  " 

"Now,  why  did  you  do  that?"  said  Butsey 
White  when  they  were  alone  in  their  room. 

"  I  couldn't  help  it.  I  just  couldn't  help  it," 
said  Stover  ruthfully.  "  It  was  such  a  joke!" 

"Not  from  you,"  said  Butsey  White  with 
Roman  dignity.  "  You've  got  the  whole  darn 
house  down  on  you  already,  and  the  Coffee-col- 
ored Angel  will  never  forgive  you." 

"Just  for  that?" 

Butsey  White  disdained  an  answer.  Instead, 
he  scanned  Stover's  clothes  with  critical  dis- 
favor. 

"  Say,  if  I'm  going  to  lead  you  around  by  the 
hand  you've  got  to  come  down  on  that  color 
scheme  of  yours,  or  it's  no  go." 
[36] 


THE    VARMINT 

Stover,  surprised,  surveyed  himself  in  the  mir- 
ror. 

"  Why,  I  thought  that  pretty  fine." 

"Say,  have  you  got  a  pair  of  trousers  that's 
related  to  a  coat?  " 

Stover  dove  into  the  trunk  and  produced  a 
blue  suit  that  passed  the  censor,  who  had  in  the 
meanwhile  confiscated  the  razor-tipped  patent- 
leathers  and  the  red-visored  cap,  saying: 

"  Now  you'll  sink  into  the  landscape  and  won't 
annoy  the  cows.  Stick  on  this  cap  of  mine 
and  hoof  it;  you're  due  at  the  Doctor's  in  half 
an  hour,  and  I  promised  old  Fuzzy- Wuzzy  to 
show  you  the  lay  of  the  land  and  give  you  some 
pointers." 

Outside,  Cheyenne  Baxter,  who  was  pitching 
curves  to  Tough  McCarty,  stopped  them: 

"  Hello,  there,  Kinky  Dink :  turn  up  here  sharp 
at  four  o'clock." 

"  What  for — sir  "  said  Stover,  surprised. 

"  We've  got  a  game  on  with  the  Cleve.  Play 
baseball?" 

"I — I'm  a  little  out  of  practice,"  said  Stover, 
who  loathed  the  game. 

"  Can't  help  it ;  you're  it.  You  play  in  the 
field.  Four  o'clock  sharp." 

"  You're  the  ninth  man  in  the  house,"  Butsey 
explained  as  they  started  for  the  school.    "  Every 
one  has  to  play.     Are  you  any  good?  " 
[37] 


THE    VARMINT 

Stover  was  tempted  to  let  his  imagination  run, 
but  the  thought  of  the  afternoon  curbed  it. 

"  Oh,  I  used  to  be  pretty  fair,"  he  said  half- 
heartedly, plunging  into  the  distant  past. 

But  Stover  had  no  desire  to  talk;  he  felt  the 
thrill  of  strange  sensations.  Scarcely  did  he 
heed  the  chatter  of  his  guide  that  rattled  on. 

The  road  lay  straight  and  cool  under  the  min- 
gled foliage  of  the  trees.  Ahead,  groups  of  boys 
crossed  and  recrossed  in  lazy  saunterings. 

"  There's  the  village,"  said  Butsey,  extending 
his  hand  to  the  left.  "  First  bungalow  is  Mister 
Laloo's,  buggies  and  hot  dogs.  There's  Bill 
Appleby's — say,  he's  a  character,  rolling  in 
money — we'll  drop  in  to  see  him.  Firmin's 
store's  next  and  the  Jigger  Shop's  at  the  end." 

"  The  Jigger  Shop ! "  said  Stover,  mystified. 
"What's  that?" 

"  Where  they  make  Jiggers,  of  course." 

"Jiggers?" 

"  Oh,  my  beautiful  stars,  think  of  eating  your 
first  Jigger!"  said  Butsey  White,  the  man  of 
the  world.  "What  wouldn't  I  give  to  be  in 
your  shoes!  I  say,  though,  you've  got  some 
tin?" 

"  Sure,"  said  Stover,  sounding  the  coins  in  his 
change  pocket. 

Butsey's  face  brightened. 

"You  see,  Al  has  no  confidence  in  me  just  at 
[38] 


THE   VARMINT 

present.  It's  a  case  of  the  regular  table  d'hOte 
for  me  until  the  first  of  the  month.  Say,  we'll 
have  a  regular  gorge.  It'll  be  fresh  strawberry 
Jiggers,  too." 

They  began  to  pass  other  fellows  in  flannels 
and  jerseys,  who  exchanged  greetings. 

"Hello,  you,  Butsey!" 

"Why,  Egghead,  howdy-do?" 

"Ah,  there,  Butsey  White!  " 

"Ta-ta,  Saphead." 

"  See  you  later,  old  Sport." 

"Four  o'clock  sharp,  Texas." 

Under  the  trees,  curled  in  the  grass,  a  group  of 
three  were  languidly  working  out  a  Greek  trans- 
lation. 

"  Skin  your  eyes,  Dink,"  said  Butsey  White, 
waving  a  greeting  as  they  passed.  "  See  the  fel- 
low this  side?  That's  Flash  Condit." 

"The  fellow  who  scored  on  the  Princeton 
'Varsity?  " 

"Oh,  you  knew,  Sid  you?" 

"  Sure,"  said  Stover  with  pride.  "  Gee,  what 
a  peach  of  a  build ! " 

"  Turn  to  your  left,"  said  Butsey  suddenly. 
"Here's  Foundation  House,  where  the  Doctor 
lives.  Just  look  at  that  doorway.  Wouldn't  it 
give  you  the  chills?" 

They  were  in  front  of  a  red-brick  house,  hid- 
den under  dark  trees  and  overgrown  with  vines 
[39] 


THE   VARMINT 

that  congregated  darkly  over  the  porte-cochere 
and  gave  the  entrance  a  mysterious  gloom  that 
still  lives  in  the  memory  of  the  generations. 

"  It  swallows  you  up,  doesn't  it?  "  said  Dink, 
awed. 

"  You  bet  it  does,  and  it's  worse  inside,"  said 
Butsey  comfortingly.  "  Come  on ;  now  I'll  show 
you  the  real  thing." 

They  passed  the  surrounding  trees  and  sud- 
denly halted.  Before  them  the  campus  burst 
upon  them. 

"Well,  Dink,  what  do  you  think  of  that?" 
said  Butsey  proudly. 

Stover  plunged  his  hands  in  his  trousers 
pockets  and  gazed  awed.  Before  him  extended 
an  immense  circle  of  greensward,  dotted  on  the 
edge  with  apple  trees  in  blossom,  under  which 
groups  of  boys  were  lolling,  or  tumbling  over  one 
another  in  joyous  cublike  romping.  To  the  left, 
across  the  circle,  half  a  dozen  red-coated,  slate- 
topped,  portly  houses,  overgrown  with  ivy,  were 
noisy  with  urchins  hanging  out  of  myriad  win- 
dows, grouped  on  steps,  chasing  one  another  in 
twisting  spirals  over  the  lawns.  Ahead,  a  mas- 
sive brownstone  chapel  with  pointed  tower  rose 
up,  and  to  its  right,  in  mathematical  bulk,  was 
the  abode  of  Greek  and  Latin  roots,  syntax  and 
dates,  of  blackboards,  hard  seats  and  the  despot- 
ism of  the  Faculty.  To  the  right,  close  at  hand, 

[40] 


THE   VARMINT 

was  a  large  three-storied  building  with  wonder- 
ful dormer  windows  tucked  under  the  slanted 
slate  roof,  and  below  was  a  long  stone  esplanade, 
black  with  the  grouped  figures  of  giants.  At 
the  windows,  propped  on  sofa  cushions,  chin  in 
hand  some  few  conned  the  approaching  lesson, 
softening  the  task  by  moments  of  dreamy  con- 
templation of  the  scuffle  below  or  stopping  to 
catch  a  tennis  ball  that  traveled  from  the 
esplanade  to  the  window.  Meanwhile,  a  con- 
stant buzz  of  inquiry  and  exclamation  con- 
tinued : 

"Say,  Bill,  how  far's  the  advance?" 

"  Middle  page  ninety- two." 

"  Gee,  what  a  lesson !  " 

"You  bet— it's  tough!" 

"  Hi,  there,  give  me  a  catch." 

"Lookout!    Biff!" 

"  Oh,  you,  Jack  Rabbit,  come  up  and  give  me 
the  advance ! " 

"  Can't.  I'm  taking  my  chances.  Get  hold  of 
Skinny." 

"  What  time's  practice?  " 

"That's  the  Upper  House,  House  of  Lords, 
Abode  of  the  Blessed,"  said  Butsey  with  envious 
eyes.  "  That's  where  we'll  land  when  we're  fifth- 
formers — govern  yourself,  no  lights,  go  to  the 
village  any  time,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
!"  He  swept  the  circle  comprehensively 
[41] 


THE   VARMINT 

with   his  arm.     "What    do   you    think   of   it? 
Pretty  fine,  eh— what?" 

"Gee! "  said  Stover  with  difficulty,  then  after 
a  moment  he  blurted  out :  "  It's — it's  terrific !  " 

"  Oh,  that's  not  all ;  there's  the  Hammil  House 
in  the  village  and  the  Davis  and  Rouse  up  the 
street.  The  baseball  fields  are  past  the  chapel." 

"Why,  it's  like  a  small  college,"  said  Stover, 
whose  gaze  returned  to  the  giants  on  the  espla- 
nade. 

"Huh!"  said  Butsey  in  sovereign  contempt. 
"  We'll  wipe  up  anything  in  the  shape  of  a  small 
college  that  comes  around  here!  Do  you  want 
to  toddle  around  the  circle?" 

"Oh,  Lord,  no!"  said  Stover,  cold  at  the 
thought  of  running  the  inspection  of  hundreds 
of  eyes.  "  Besides,  I've  got  to  see  the  Doctor." 

"All  right,  Stand  right  up  to  him  now. 
Don't  get  scared,"  said  Butsey,  choosing  the  one 
method  to  arouse  all  latent  fears. 

"What's  he  like?"  said  Stover,  biting  his 
nails. 

"There's  nothing  like  him,"  said  Butsey  remi- 
niscently.  "  He's  got  an  eye  that  gives  you  the 
creeps.  He  knows  everything  that  goes  on — 
everything." 

Stover  began  to  whistle,  keeping  an  eye  on 
the  windows  as  they  approached. 

"Well,  ta-ta!    Ill  hang  out  at  Laloo's  for 
[42] 


THE   VARMINT 

you,"   said  Butsey,  loping  off.     "Say,   by  the 
way,  look  out — he's  a  crackerjack  boxer." 

Stover,  like  JEneas  at  the  gates  of  Avernus, 
stood  under  the  awful  portals,  ruminating  un- 
easily on  Butsey's  last  remark.  There  certainly 
was  something  dark  and  terrifying  about  the 
place,  that  cast  cold  shadows  over  the  cheery 
April  day.  Then  the  door  opened,  he  gave  his 
name  in  blundering  accents  to  the  butler,  and 
found  himself  in  the  parlor  sitting  bolt-upright 
on  the  edge  of  a  gilded  chair.  The  butler  re- 
turned, picking  up  his  steps  and,  after  whisper- 
ing that  the  Doctor  would  see  him  presently, 
departed,  stealing  noiselessly  away.  Abandoned 
to  the  classic  stillness,  nothing  in  the  room  re- 
assured him.  The  carpets  were  soft,  drowning 
out  the  sounds  of  human  feet;  the  walls  and 
corridors  seemed  horribly  stilled,  as  if  through 
them  no  human  cry  might  reach  the  outer  air. 
All  about  were  photographs  of  broken  columns 
— cold,  rigid,  ruined  columns,  faintly  discerned 
in  the  curtained  light  of  the  room.  The  Doctor's 
study  was  beyond,  through  the  door  by  which 
the  butler  had  passed.  Stover's  glance  was  riv- 
eted on  it,  trying  to  remember  whether  the 
American  Constitution  prohibited  head  masters 
from  the  brutal  English  practice  of  caning  and 
birching;  and, — listening  to  the  lagging  tick  of 
the  mantel  clock,  he  solemnly  vowed  to  lead  that 
[43] 


THE   VARMINT 

upright,  impeccable  life  that  would  keep  him 
from  such  another  soul-racking  visit. 

The  door  opened  and  the  Doctor  appeared, 
holding  out  his  hand. 

Stover  hastily  sprang  up,  found  himself  actu- 
ally shaking  hands  and  mumbling  something 
futile  and  idiotic.  Then  he  was  drawn  to  the 
horror  of  horrors,  and  the  door  shut  out  all  re- 
treat. 

"Well,  John,  how  do  you  like  the  school?" 

Stover,  more  terrified  by  this  mild  beginning 
than  if  the  Doctor  had  produced  a  bludgeon 
from  behind  his  back,  stammered  out  that  he 
thought  the  buildings  were  handsome,  very  hand- 
some. 

"  It's  a  pretty  big  place,"  said  the  Doctor, 
throwing  his  nervous  little  body  back  in  an  easy 
chair  and  studying  the  four-hundred-and-second 
problem  of  the  year.  "  You'll  find  a  good  deal 
in  it — a  great  many  interests." 

"He  certainly  has  a  wicked  eye,"  thought 
Stover,  watching  with  fascination  the  glance 
that  confronted  him  like  a  brace  of  pistols  sud- 
denly extended  from  under  shaggy  bushes. 
"  Now  he's  sizing  me  up — wonder  if  he  knows 
all?" 

"Well,  John,  what  was  the  trouble?"  said  the 
Doctor  from  his  easy,  reclining  position. 

"The  trouble,  sir?  Oh,"  said  Stover,  sitting 
[44] 


THE    VARMINT 

bolt-upright  with  every  sinew  stiffened.  "  You 
mean  why  they  fired — why  they  expelled  me, 
sir?" 

"  Yes,  why  did  they  fire  you?  "  said  the  Doctor, 
trying  to  descend. 

"  For  getting  caught,  sir." 

The  Doctor  gazed  at  him  sharply,  seeking  to 
determine  whether  the  answer  was  from  imperti- 
nence or  fright  or  a  precocious  judgment  of  the 
morals  of  the  nation.  Then  he  smiled  and  said : 

"  Well,  what  was  it?  " 

"Please,  sir,  I  put  asafetida  in  the  furnace," 
said  Stover  in  frightened  tones. 

"You  put  asafetida  down  the  furnace?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"That  was  a  very  brilliant  idea,  wasn't  it?" 

"No,  sir,"  said  Stover,  drawing  a  long  breath 
and  wondering  if  he  could  possibly  stay  after 
such  a  confession. 

"Why  did  you  do  it?" 

Stover  hesitated,  and  suddenly,  yielding  to  an 
unaccountable  impulse  toward  the  truth  that 
occasionally  surprised  him,  blurted  out: 

"  I  did  it  to  make  trouble,  sir." 

"You  didn't  like  the  school?" 

"  I  hated  it !  There  were  a  lot  of  girls 
around." 

"Well,  John,"  said  the  Doctor  with  heroic 
seriousness,  "  it  may  be  that  you  didn't  have 
[45] 


THE   VARMINT 

enough  to  do.  You  have  evidently  an  active 
brain — perhaps  imagination  would  be  a  fitter 
word.  As  I  said,  you'll  find  this  a  pretty  big 
place,  just  the  sort  of  opening  an  ambitious  boy 
should  delight  in.  You'll  find  here  all  sorts  of 
boys — boys  that  count,  boys  you  respect  and 
want  to  respect  you,  and  then  there  are  other 
boys  who  will  put  asafetida  in  the  furnace  if  you 
choose  to  teach  them  chemistry." 

"  Oh,  no,  sir,"  said  Stover,  all  in  a  gasp. 

"  Your  parents  think  you  are  hard  to  man- 
age," said  the  Doctor,  with  the  wisp  of  a  smile. 
"  I  don't.  Go  out ;  make  some  organization ;  rep- 
resent us ;  make  us  proud  of  you ;  count  for  some- 
thing! And  remember  one  thing:  if  you  want 
to  set  fire  to  Memorial  Hall  or  to  dynamite  this 
study  do  it  because  you  wrant  to,  and  not  because 
some  other  fellow  puts  it  into  your  head.  Stand 
on  your  own  legs."  The  Doctor  rose  and  ex- 
tended his  hand  cordially.  "Of  course,  I  shall 
have  my  eye  on  you." 

Stover,  dumbfounded,  rose  as  though  on 
springs.  The  Doctor,  noticing  his  amazement, 
said: 

"Well,  what  is  it?" 

"  Please,  sir— is  that  all?  " 

"That's  all,"  said  the  Doctor  seriously. 

Stover  drew  a  long  breath,  shook  hands  pre- 
cipitately and  escaped. 

[46] 


IV 

The  spell  was  still  on  him  as  he  stumbled  over 
the  resounding  steps.  But,  twenty  feet  from 
the  door,  the  spirit  of  irreverence  overtook  him. 
Then,  at  the  thought  of  the  waiting  Butsey,  he 
began  to  pipe  forth  voluminously  the  martial 
strains  of  Sherman's  March  to  the  Sea,  kicking 
enormous  pebbles  victoriously  before  him. 

Butsey  White,  sitting  on  the  doorstep  of  La- 
loo's,  gazed  at  him  from  the  depths  of  a  steaming 
frankfurter  sandwich. 

"  Well,  you  look  cheerful,"  he  said  in  surprise. 

"Why  not?" 

"How^was  he?" 

"Gentle  as  a  kitten." 

"  Come  off!    Were  you  scared?  " 

"  Scared !    Lord,  no !    I  enjoyed  myself." 

"You're  a  cheerful  liar,  you  are.  What  did 
he  say  to  you?" 

"Hoped  I'd  enjoy  the  place  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing.  And — oh,  yes,  he  spoke  about  you." 

"  He  did,  did  he?  "  said  Butsey,  precipitately 
leaving  the  frankfurter  sandwich. 

"  He  hoped  I'd  have  a  good  influence  on  you," 
F471 


THE   VARMINT 

said  Stover,  whose  imagination  had  been  too  long 
confined. 

Butsey  rose  wrathfully,  but  the  answer  he  in- 
tended could  not  be  made,  for,  reckoning  on  his 
host,  he  was  already  in  his  third  frankfurter, 
and  there  was  the  Jigger  Shop  yet  to  be  visited. 

"  Dink,  if  you  ever  have  to  tell  the  truth,"  he 
said,  "  it'll  kill  you.  Come  in  and  meet  Mr. 
Laloo." 

Mr.  Laloo  was  leaning  gratefully  on  the  coun- 
ter— as,  indeed,  he  was  always  leaning  against 
something — his  legs  crossed,  lazily  plying  the 
afternoon  toothpick. 

"  Laloo,  shake  hands  with  my  friend,  Mr. 
Stover,"  said  Butsey  White  professionally. 
"Mr.  Stover's  heard  about  your  hot  dogs,  way 
out  in  California." 

Laloo  transferred  the  toothpick  and  gave 
Stover  his  hand  in  a  tired,  unenthusiastic  way. 

"  Well,  now,  they  do  be  pretty  good  hot  dogs," 
he  drawled  out.  "Suppose  you  want  one?" 
He  looked  at  Stover  in  sleepy  reproachfulness, 
and  then  slid  around  the  counter  in  the  shortest 
parabola  possible. 

"Pick  him  out  a  nice,  young  Pomeranian," 
said  Butsey,  peering  into  the  steaming  tin. 

Laloo  forked  a  frankfurter,  selected  a  roll  and 
looked  expectantly  at  Stover. 

"What's  the  matter?"  said  Dink,  mystified. 
[48] 


THE    VARMINT 

"Mustard  or  no  mustard?"  Butsey  said  in 
explanation.  "He  likes  to  talk,  but  the  doctor 
won't  let  Mm." 

"  I'll  have  all  that's  coming  to  me,"  said  Dink 
loudly. 

A  second  later  his  teeth  had  sunk  into  the 
odorous  mass.  He  shut  his  eyes,  gazed  seraph- 
ically  at  the  smooty  ceiling  and  winked  at  But- 
sey. 

"  Umm?  "  said  Butsey. 

"  Umm !     Umm !  " 

"  Isn't  he  the  fancy  young  dog-catcher?  " 

"Well,  I  should  rather!"  said  Dink,  lost  in 
the  vapors.  "  I  say,  have  another?  " 

"Thanks,  old  chap,  but  I  had  a  couple  while 
you  were  chucking  the  Doctor  under  the  chin," 
said  Butsey  glibly.  "  Save  up  now;  we've  got 
a  couple  more  places  to  visit." 

"  How  much?"  said  Dink. 

Laloo,  who  was  reclining  against  the  nearest 
wall,  elevated  four  fingers  and  gazed  out  the 
window. 

"  Four ! "  said  Stover. 

"One  and  three." 

"Three!"  said  Butsey  in  feigned  surprise. 
"Oh,  come,  I  didn't  eat  three— well,  I  never; 
what  do  you  think  of  that?  " 

Dink  rubbed  his  ear  thoughtfully,  looked  hard 
at  Butsey  and  paid.  Laloo  followed  them  to  the 
[49] 


THE   VARMINT 

door,  leaned  against  the  jamb  and  gazed  down 
the  road. 

"Now  for  Bill  Appleby's,"  said  Butsey  cheer- 
ily. "He's  rolling — rolling  in  wealth.  We'll 
go  in  later  for  lamps  and  crockery  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing.  I  thought  we  might  sort  of  wash 
down  the  hot  dogs  before  we  go  up  to  the  Jigger 
Shop — eh,  what?" 

In  Appleby's  general  merchandise  store  Stover 
gravely  shook  hands  with  a  quick,  businesslike 
little  man  with  a  Western  mustache,  a  Down- 
East  twang  and  a  general  air  of  being  on  the 
trigger. 

"  Well,  Bill,  how's  business? "  said  Butsey 
affably,  nudging  Stover. 

"It's  bad,  boys,  it's  bad,"  said  Bill  mourn- 
fully. 

"  Bad,  you  old  robber,"  said  Butsey ;  "  why, 
that  little  iron  safe  of  yours  is  just  cracking 
open  with  coin.  How's  the  rootbeer  to-day?" 

"  It's  very  nice,  Mr.  White.  Just  come  in  this 
morning." 

"Yes,  it  did!  Bet  it  came  in  with  the  Ark," 
said  Butsey,  to  Stover's  great  admiration. 
"  Well,  are  you  going  to  set  us  up  to  a  couple  of 
bottles,  or  have  we  got  to  pay  for  them  ? " 

"  We've  got  some  very  fine  Turkish  paste,  Mr. 
White,"  said  Bill,  producing  the  rootbeer. 

"Well?"  said  Butsey,  looking  at  Stover. 

"Sure!" 

[50] 


THE   VARMINT 

"  I'd  like  to  show  you  some  of  our  new  crock- 
ery sets,  Mr.  Stover,"  said  Appleby  softly. 
"  Just  come  in  this  morning.  Want  a  student's 
lamp?" 

"  No  time  now,  Bill,"  said  Butsey,  hastily  con- 
sulting the  clock.  "  See  you  later." 

Other  groups  came  in;  Appleby  moved  away. 
Stover,  quenching  the  hot  dogs  in  rootbeer,  heard 
again  the  opening  salutations : 
"  Well,  Bill,  how's  business?  " 
"  It's  bad,  Mr.  Parsons.     It's  bad." 
"Well,    Bill,    ta-ta,"    said    Butsey,    as    they 
moved  off.    "  Seen  Doc  Macnooder  this  morn- 
ing? " 

"  No,  Mr.  White,  I  haven't  saw  him  to-day." 
"Always  make  him  answer  that,"  said  But- 
sey chuckling,  "  and  always  ask  him  about  busi- 
ness. We  all  do.  It's  e-tiquette.  There's  Fir- 
min's/'  he  said,  with  a  wave  of  his  hand — 
"  post-office,  country  store,  boots  and  shoes  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing.  And  here's  the  Jigger 
Shop!" 

Stover  had  no  need  of  the  explanation.  Be- 
fore a  one-story,  glass-fronted  structure  a  swarm 
of  boys  of  all  ages,  sizes  and  colors  were,  clus- 
tered on  steps  and  railings,  or  perched  on  posts 
and  backs  of  chairs,  all  ravenously  attacking 
the  jigger  to  the  hungry  clink  of  the  spoon 
against  the  glass.  They  elbowed  their  way  in 
through  the  joyous,  buzzing  mass  to  where 
[51] 


THK    VARMINT 

by   the  counter,  Al,   wtto  ihe   jigger, 

scooped   out    tlu-    fresh    -  am 

and  irathered  in  the  nickels  that  went  before. 
At  the  moment  of  their  arrival  Al  was  in 
what  might  be  termed  a  iU  formation. 

One  elbow  was   loaning  on    the    count. 
hand  caressed  the  heavy,  drooping  mustache. 
ear  listened  to  the  promises  of  a  ravenous,  impe- 
cunious group,  but  the  long,  pointer  nose  and 
financial  eyes  were  dreamily  plunged  on  the 
group  without 

"Gee,  did  you  ever  see  such  an  eye?"  -aid 
Butsey,  who  had  reasons  of  his  own  for  qnailinir 
before  it  "  It's  almost  up  to  the  Doctor's,  ^ 

.'t  fool  him — not  for  a  minnte.  Talk  about 
Pierpont  Morgan!  Why,  he  knows  the  whole 
blooming  lot  of  us,  just  wha  t  rth.  Why, 

that  eye  of  his  could  put  a  hole  right  through 
any  pocket  Watch  him  when  he  spots  me." 
Pushing  forward  he  exclaimed :  "  Hello,  Al ;  glad 
to  see  me?  » 

Al  turned  slowly,  fastening  his  glance  on  him 
i  stony  intentness, 

"Don't  bother  me,  you  Butsey,"  he  said 
shortly. 

"Al,  Pve  sort  of  set  my  sweet  tooth  on  these 
here  strawberry  jiggers  of  yours." 

The  Guardian  of  the  Jigger  made  a  half  mo- 
tion in  the  air,  as  though  to  brush  away  an 
imaginary  fly. 

[53] 


THE   VAKMINT 

"Two  nice,  creamy,  double  strawberry  jiggers, 
Al." 

APs  eyes  drooped  wearily. 

"My  friend,  Mr.  Vanastorbilt  Stover,  here's 
setting  up,"  said  Butsey  in  conri Haling  accents. 

The  eyes  opened  and  fastened  on  Stover,  who 
advanced  saying: 

"  That  goes." 

"  Ring  a  couple  of  dimes  down,  Astorbilt," 
«aid  Butsey.  "  Al's  very  fond  of  music." 

"  Give  me  change  for  that,"  said  8tov<T,  ris- 
ing to  the  occasion  with  a  five-do  1 1; ir  hill. 

"And,  for  the  love  of  Mike,  hustle  'cm,"  said 
Butsey  White.  "  I've  only  got  a  second." 

The  shop  began  to  empty  rapidly  as  the  hour 
of  the  two  o'clock  recitation  neared.  Stover 
gazed  into  the  pink,  fruity  depths  of  his  first 
strawberry  jigger,  inserted  his  spoon  gingerly  ;m<l 
took  a  nibble.  Then  he  drew  a  lontr,  contented 
breath,  gazed  into  <lie  land  of  dreams,  and  gave 
himself  up  to  the  delights  of  a  new,  of  an  incom- 
parable sensation. 

Butsey  White,  gobbling  against  time,  flung 
out  occasional,  full-mouthed  phrases: 

"  Got  to  run — 'xcuse  us — jemima !  Isn't  it  the 
stuff — see  you  at  three — better  bring  some  back 
in  box — don't  tell  any  one,  though — especially 
the  Coffee-colored  Angel." 

Across  the  fields  the  bell  suddenlv,  irnpa- 
[53] 


THE   VARMINT 

tiently,  brutally  clanged  out.  With  a  last  con- 
vulsive gulp  Butsey  White  finished  his  glass, 
and  burst  from,  the  shop  in  the  helter-skelter 
company  of  the  last  laggards.  Stover,  left  alone, 
looked  inquiringly  at  Al. 

"  Recitation,"  said  Al.  "  They've  got  a  two- 
twenty  sprint  before  the  bell  stops.  We're  out 
of  hours,  now,  except  for  the  Upper  House." 

"Meaning  me?"  said  Stover,  rising. 

"  Sit  where  you  are,"  said  Al.  "  You're  all 
right  for  to-day.  Where  do  you  hang  out?" 

"  Green  House,"  said  Dink,  who,  beginning  to 
feel  hungry,  ordered  another  jigger  and  selected 
a  chocolate  eclair. 

"  You're  not  rooming  with  Butsey  White?  " 

"  The  same." 

"You  are?"  said  Al  pityingly.  "Well,  just 
let  me  give  you  one  word  of  advice,  young  fellow. 
Sew  your  shirt  to  your  back,  or  he'll  have  it  off 
while  you're  getting  into  your  coat." 

"I  wasn't  born  yesterday,"  said  Dink  impu- 
dently, gesturing  with  his  spoon.  "  And  I  rather 
fancy  I'm  a  pretty  cute  little  proposition  my- 
self." 

"So!" 

"  If  any  of  these  smart  Alecs  can  get  the  best 
of  me,"  said  Dink  grandiloquently,  egged  on  by 
the  other's  tone  of  disbelief,  "he'll  have  to  get 
up  with  the  chickens !  " 

[54] 


WHY,    SOME    OF    'EM    ARE    SO   SLICK   THAT  WHEN    THEY    COME    IN    I 
LOCK   THE    CASH    DRAWER    AND    STUFF    COTTON    IN    MY    EARS" 


THE   VARMINT 

"  You're  pretty  slick?" 

"As  slick  as  they  make  'em." 

"  Say,  bub,"  said  Al,  with  his  dreamy  drawl, 
"is  this  the  line  of  talk  you've  been  putting 
out  to  that  bunch  of  Indians  down  in  the 
Green?  " 

"  Oh,  I'll  put  it  out." 

"  Say,  you're  going  to  have  a  wonderful  time 
here!" 

"Watch  me,"  said  Dink,  cocking  his  head;  but 
with  less  confidence  than  when  he  had  an- 
nounced his  intentions  on  the  stage-coach. 

"Young  fellow,"  said  Al,  leaning  back  and 
looking  at  him  from  under  his  eyelids,  "you're 
in  wrong.  You  don't  know  what  you've  come  to. 
Why,  there's  a  bunch  of  young  stock  jobbers 
around  here  that  would  make  a  Wall  Street 
bunco-steerer  take  to  raising  chickens!  Slick? 
Why,  some  of  'em  are  so  slick  that  when  they 
come  in  I  lock  the  cash  drawer  and  stuff  cotton 
in  my  ears." 

"  Bring  'em  on,"  said  Dink  disdainfully. 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  loud  flop  by  the 
window  in  the  rear,  and  the  Tennessee  Shad  rose 
slowly  from  the  floor.  At  the  same  moment  Doc 
Macnooder,  ambling  innocently  by  on  the  far- 
ther sidewalk,  turned,  dashed  across  the  street, 
bounded  into  the  shop  and,  returning  to  the  door, 
carefully  surveyed  the  approaches. 
[55] 


THE    VARMINT 

"  All  clear/'  said  the  Tennessee  Shad  from  the 
window. 

"All's  well  on  the  Rappahannoek,"  returned 
the  scout  at  the  door. 

Macnooder,  with  a  well-executed  double  shuf- 
fle, the  Tennessee  Shad,  with  a  stiff-jointed 
lope  of  his  bony  body,  advanced  and  shook  hands. 

"  Al,  we  come  not  to  take  your  hard-earned 
money,  but  do  you  good,"  said  Macnooder  as 
usual,  genially  shaking  an  imaginary  hand. 

The  Tennessee  Shad  camped  on  the  back  of 
a  chair,  drew  up  his  thin,  long  legs,  laid  one 
bony  finger  against  a  bony  nose  and  looked  ex- 
pectantly at  Macnooder. 

Meanwhile  Al,  without  turning  his  back,  care- 
fully moved  over  to  the  glass  counter  that  shel- 
tered appetizing  trays  of  Eclairs,  plum  cakes  and 
cream  puffs  and,  whistling  a  melancholy  note, 
locked  the  door,  scanned  the  counter,  and  placed 
a  foot  on  the  cover  of  the  jigger  tub. 

Doc  Macnooder,  whose  round,  bullet  head  and 
little  rhinoceros  eyes  had  followed  the  hostile 
preparation,  said  sorrowfully: 

"Al-bert,  your  conduct  grieves  us." 

"  Go  ahead,  now,"  said  Al  in  a  tired  voice. 

"Go  ahead?"  said  Macnooder,  looking  in  sur- 
prise at  the  equally  impassive  Tennessee  Shad. 

"  What's  the  flimflam  to-day?  " 

"Al,"  said  Macnooder,  in  his  most  persuasive 
[56] 


THE   VARMINT 

tones,  "you  wrong  me.  My  motives  are  honoiv 
able.  At  four  o'clock  this  very  afternoon  Tur- 
key Reiter  will  proceed  to  cash  a  check  and  set- 
tle for  a  fountain  pen,  a  pair  of  suspenders  and 
a  safety  razor  I  sold  him.  Just  trust  me  till 
then — will  you?" 

"  Nothing  doing,"  said  Al. 

"Honor  bright,  Al!" 

"  No  use." 

"You  must  trust  me  till  then." 

Al,  producing  a  patent  clipper,  began  to  pare 
his  nails. 

"Al?" 

"What?" 

"Won't  you  trust  me?" 

"  Don't  make  me  laugh !  " 

"Al's  right,  Doc,"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad, 
entering  the  discussion.  "  You  ought  to  put  up 
some  guarantee." 

Al  slowly  turned  his  gaze  on  the  Tennessee 
Shad  and  waited  hopefully  for  the  real  attack. 

"Well,  what?"  said  Macnooder. 

"  How  about  your  watch?  " 

"  It's  loaned." 

"You  haven't  got  a  stickpin  on  you?  " 

"Left  ?em  at  home — never  thought  Al  would 
go  back  on  me." 

Al  smiled. 

"  That's  a  very  nice  spring  coat  you've  got  on," 
[57] 


THE    VARMINT 

said  the  Tennessee  Shad,  as  though  struck  by  an 
inspiration.  "  Why  don't  you  put  that  up  for  a 
couple  of  hours?" 

"Not  on  your  life,"  said  Macnooder  indig- 
nantly. "This  coat's  brand  new,  worth  thirty 
dollars." 

Al,  suddenly  shifting,  leaned  forward,  both 
elbows  on  the  counter,  and  studied  the  coat  with 
a  reminiscent  air. 

"  Oh,  put  it  up,"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad. 

"Never.  I've  got  associations  about  this  coat 
and,  besides,  I've  got  to  make  a  swell  call  in 
Princeton  to-morrow." 

"What's  the  diff?"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad, 
yawning.  "  It's  only  a  couple  of  hours ;  and  you 
know  you  said  you  were  going  to  clean  off  the 
whole  slate  with  Al,  sure  as  Turkey  boned  up." 

Macnooder  seemed  to  hesitate. 

"  It's  idiotic  to  put  up  a  real,  high-life  coat  for 
a  couple  of  jiggers." 

"  Hurry  up ;  I'm  hungry." 

"  Stop,"  said  Al,  drawing  back  satisfied.  "  I 
wouldn't  bother  about  that  coat  if  I  were  you." 

"Why  not?"  exclaimed  the  two  partners. 

"  'Cause  I  remember  that  coat  gag  now,"  said 
Al  with  a  far-off  look.     "  I  bit  once — way  back 
in  '89.    It's  a  good  game,  specially  when  the  real 
owner  comes  ramping  in  the  next  day." 
[58] 


THE   VARMINT 

"What  do  you  mean?"  said  Doc  Macnooder 
indignantly. 

"  I  mean  that  it  don't  button,  you  young 
pirate,"  said  Al  scornfully,  but  without  malice. 
"  When  you  try  anything  as  slick  as  that  again 
you  want  to  be  sure  the  real  owner  ain't  been 
around.  That  coat  belongs  to  Lovely  Mead." 

Doc  Macnooder  looked  at  the  Tennessee  Shad. 

"Have  we  really  got  to  pay  for  them?"  he 
said  mournfully. 

"  Looks  that  way." 

"Oh,  well,"  said  Dbc,  slapping  down  a  quar- 
ter, "  fill  'em  up." 

Al  heaped  up  the  glasses,  adding  an  appreci- 
ative extra  dab  with  the  magnanimity  of  the  vic- 
tor, and  said : 

"  Say,  you  boys  want  to  rub  up  a  little.  Here's 
Stover,  over  there,  just  come.  He's  about  your 
size." 

The  Tennessee  Shad  and  Doc  Macnooder  about 
faced  and  stared  at  Stover,  who  all  the  while  had 
remained  in  quiet  obscurity,  dangling  his  legs 
over  the  counter. 

"  Just  come,  Stover?  "  said  Macnooder  at  last. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  On  the  noon  stage?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  What  form?  " 

[59] 


THE    VARMINT 

"  Second,  sir." 

"  Why,  shake,  then,  brother,"  said  the  Tennes- 
see Shad,  offering  his  hand.  "  Shake  hands  with 
Doc  Macnooder." 

Doc  Macnooder  grasped  his  hand  with  extra 
cordiality,  saying: 

"What  house?" 

"  Green  House,  sir,"  said  Stover,  awed  by  the 
sight  of  a  'varsity  jersey.  "  I'm  rooming  with — 
with  Mr.  White." 

"  What'll  you  have?  " 

"  I  beg  pardon." 

"What'll  you  have?" 

"  Why,"  said  Stover,  quite  taken  back  by  the 
offer,  "  I  think  it's  up  to  me,  sir." 

"  Rats ! "  said  Macnooder.  "  If  you've  been  in 
tow  of  Butsey,  I'll  bet  you've  been  paying  out 
all  day.  Butsey  White's  a  low-down,  white- 
livered  cuss,  who'd  take  advantage  of  a  fresh- 
man. Step  up." 

"  I'll  have  another  one  of  these,"  said  Stover 
gratefully,  feeling  his  heart  warm  toward  the 
unexpected  friends. 

"  Bet  Butsey's  stuck  you  pretty  hard,"  said  the 
Tennessee  Shad,  nodding  wisely.  "  He's  just 
loaded  with  the  spondulix,  too." 

"Well,  he  did  sort  of  impose  on  me,"  said 
Stover,  thinking  of  the  frankfurters  at  Laloo's. 

"  It's  a  shame,"  said  Macnooder  indignantly. 
[60] 


THE   VARMINT 

f  Here,  Al,  make  that  a  triple.    Don't  think 
we're  all  like  that,  though. " 

Al,  listening,  was  sorely  puzzled  at  this  sudden 
cordiality,  knowing  of  old  the  firm  of  Doc  Mac- 
nooder  and  the  Tennessee  Shad. 

"I  say,  let  me  set  up  for  eclairs,  or  some- 
thing," said  Stover,  exceedingly  moved. 

"Not  a  cent,"  said  Macnooder  firmly. 

"  I  hope  Butsey  hasn't  been  steering  you 
around  to  Firmin's  and  Appleby's  for  crockery 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing,"  said  the  Tennessee 
Shad,  with  a  look  that  at  once  convinced  Stover 
of  his  roommate's  criminal  complicity. 

"  Why,  he  was  going  to  do  that  after  this  reci- 
tation." 

"He  was,  was  he?"  said  Doc.  "Think  of 
that!  He's  going  to  stick  you  for  everything 
first  hand." 

"What  can  I  do?" 

"Do?  Save  half  your  chink,  get  everything 
second  hand,  the  way  we  do." 

Al,  comprehending,  leaned  back  and  smiled. 

"  I'll  bet  he  get's  a  rake  off,"  said  Stover  in- 
dignantly. 

"  I  don't  say  that,"  said  Macnooder,  with  the 
air  of  insinuating  as  much. 

"  I  wish  I  knew  the  ropes." 

"  That's  easy  enough.    Any  one  can  tell  you." 

"  I  wish  you  fellows'd  put  me  on." 
[61] 


THE    VARMINT 

"Glad  to  do  it,"  said  Macnooder,  without  en- 
thusiasm. "  Finish  up  and  we'll  fit  you  out  in 
a  jiffy." 

When  the  three  went  shuffling  down  the  street 
Al  did  an  unusual,  an  unprecedented  thing.  He 
actually  made  the  turn  of  the  counter  and  sta- 
tioned himself  at  the  door,  watching  the  group 
depart — Macnooder  with  his  arm  on  Stover's 
shoulder,  the  Tennessee  Shad  guarding  the  other 
side. 

When  they  disappeared  beyond  Bill  Orum's, 
the  cobbler's,  in  the  direction  of  the  Dickinson, 
he  said  slowly,  in  profound  admiration: 

"  Well,  I'll  be  jiggered!  If  those  body-snatch- 
ers don't  get  electrocuted,  they'll  own  Fifth 
Avenue ! " 


[62] 


tV 

"  Come  up  to  my  room  and  we'll  see  what's  on 
hand,"  said  Doc,  entering  the  Dickinson.  "  Too 
bad  you're  stuck  down  in  the  Green — no  house 
spirit  there — you  must  get  in  with  us  next  year." 

"Doc's  a  great  fellow,"  said  the  Tennessee 
Shad,  as  Macnooder  went  quickly  ahead,  "a 
great  business  man.  He's  a  sort  of  clearing 
house  for  the  whole  school.  Say,  he's  taken  a 
regular  fancy  to  you." 

"What  did  he  get  his  <L>  for?"  said  Stover, 
as  the  Tennessee  Shad,  to  gain  time,  showed  him 
the  lower  floor. 

"Quarter  on  the  eleven  last  fall.  Here's 
the  Triumphant  Egghead's  room.  Isn't  it  a 
peach?  They've  got  a  good  crowd  here;  you 
must  be  with  them  or  us  next  year.  Here's  Tur- 
key Reiter's  and  Butcher  Stevens'  quarters. 
They're  cracker  jacks,  too ;  on  the  eleven  and  the 
nine.  Come  on,  now.  We'll  strike  Doc.  You 
know  he  studies  medicine  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing.  Wait  till  I  give  the  countersign.  Doc's 
most  particular." 

Stover  found  himself  in  a  den,  a  combination 
of  drug-store,  taxidermist's  shop  and  general 
[63] 


THE    VARMINT 

warehouse.  All  about  the  room  were  ranged  an 
extraordinary  array  of  bottles — green  bottles 
that  lurked  under  the  bed,  red,  blue  and  white 
bottles  that  climbed  the  walls  and  crowded  the 
mantelpiece,  tops  of  bottles  that  peered  out  of 
half-opened  boxes,  all  ticketed  and  mustered  in 
regiments.  From  the  ceiling  a  baby  alligator 
swung  on  a  wire,  blinking  at  them  horribly  with 
shining  glass  eyes;  a  stuffed  owl  sat  in  one  cor- 
ner; while  opposite,  a  muskrat  peered  into  a 
crow's  nest.  The  closet  and  all  available  floor 
space  were  heaped  high  with  paper  boxes  and 
wooden  cases,  while  over  all  were  innumerable 
catalogues. 

"Pretty  fine,  isn't  it?"  said  the  Tennessee 
Shad. 

"It's  wonderful,"  said  Stover,  not  quite  at 
ease. 

"  It's  not  bad,"  said  Doc.  "  I'd  like  to  have  a 
nice,  white  skeleton  over  there  in  that  corner; 
but  they're  hard  to  get,  nowadays.  Now  let's 
get  down  to  business.  Sit  down." 

Stover  took  the  only  chair ;  the  Tennessee  Shad 
curled  up  languidly  on  the  bed,  after  brushing 
aade  the  debris;  while  Macnooder,  perched  on 
a  drygoods  box,  poised  a  pencil  over  a  pad  of 
paper. 

"You  want  a  crockery  set,  first;  a  student 
lamp,  and  an  oil  can  to  keep  your  oil  in." 

"  Especially  the  can,"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad 
[64] 


THE   .VARMINT 

gravely.    "Better  get  a  padlock  with  it,  or  the 
whole  Green  House  will  be  stealing  from  you." 

"  I  don't  know  whether  I  have  a  can  on  hand," 
said  Macnooder  anxiously.  "But  here's  a 
lamp." 

He  placed  a  rather  battered  affair  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  floor,  saying: 

"It's  a  little  squee-geed,  but  you  don't  care 
about  looks.  They  ask  you  all  kinds  of  prices 
for  them  when  they're  new;  but  you  can  have 
this  for  two-twenty-five.  There's  a  bite  out  of 
the  shade,  but  you  can  turn  that  side  to  the  wall. 
They're  rather  hard  to  get  second  hand." 

"  All  right,"  said  Stover. 

"  Better  light  it  up  first,"  said  the  Tennessee 
Shad  professionally. 

"  That's  businesslike,"  said  Macnooder,  who 
lit  a  match  and,  after  an  unsuccessful  attempt, 
said:  "There's  no  oil  in  it.  Still,  if  Stover 
wants " 

"Never  mind  that,"  said  Stover  loudly,  to 
show  his  confidence. 

"  Now  for  the  toilet  set." 

"  Say,  how  about  the  can? " 

"  Oh,  the  can.  Let  me  look,"  said  Macnooder, 
disappearing  among  the  packing  boxes  in  the 
closet. 

"You  want  that,"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad 
confidentially. 

"  Hope  he's  got  one,"  said  Stover. 
[65] 


THE    VARMINT 

Macnooder  reappeared  with  an  ordinary  kero- 
sene can  and  a  padlock,  announcing: 

"  This  is  the  only  one  I've  got  on  hand.  It's 
iny  own." 

"  Let  him  have  it,"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad. 
"  No  one  can  get  in  here ;  you're  always  locked 
and  bolted." 

Macnooder  hesitated. 

"How  does  it  work?"  said  Stover,  interested. 

"  The  spigot  is  plugged  up  and  the  top  cover 
is  padlocked  to  the  side.  See?  Now  no  one  can 
get  it.  I  don't  particularly  care  about  selling 
it,  but  if  you  want  it  take  it  at  one- twenty-five." 

"That's  too  much,"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad. 
"  One  plunk's  enough." 

"You're  paying  cash?"  said  Macnooder,  con- 
sidering. 

"  Sure !  "  said  Stover. 

"  Well,  call  it  one  bone,  then." 

Stover  looked  gratefully  at  the  Tennessee 
Shad,  who  winked  at  him  to  show  him  he  was 
his  friend. 

"  Now,  about  a  crockery  set,"  said  Macnooder, 
scratching  his  head.  "I've  got  two,  plain  and 
fancy,  what  we  call  a  souvenir  set — but  you 
wouldn't  understand  that  I'll  show  you  the 
regular  kind." 

"What's  a  souvenir  set?"  said  Dink,  mvsti- 
fied. 

[66] 


THE    VARMINT 

"Oh,  it's  a  sort  of  school  fad,"  said  the  Ten- 
nessee Shad,  as  Doc  disappeared.  "  Every  piece 
is  different,  collected  from  all  sorts  of  places — 
swap  'em  around  like  postage  stamps,  don't  you 
know.  We've  got  rather  tired  of  the  ordinary 
thing,  you  know." 

"Say,  that's  a  bully  idea,"  said  Dink,  whose 
imagination  was  appealed  to. 

"  Some  of  the  fellows  have  perfect  beauts," 
said  the  Tennessee  Shad,  yawning;  "got  at  ho- 
tels, and  house  parties,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing." 

"Why,  that  beats  hooking  signs  all  hollow," 
said  Dink,  growing  enthusiastic. 

"  I  didn't  know  you'd  be  interested,"  said  the 
Tennessee  Shad  carelessly.  "Like  to  see  one? " 

"  You  bet  I  would." 

"I  say,  Doc,  old  boy,"  said  the  Tennessee 
Shad ;  "  bring  out  the  souvenir  set,  too,  will  you, 
like  a  good  fellow?" 

"  Wait  till  I  get  this  out,"  said  Macnooder, 
who,  after  much  rummaging,  puffed  back  with 
a  blue-and-white  set  which  he  ranged  on  the 
floor. 

"How's  that  appeal  to  you?"  he  said  with  a 
flourish  of  his  hand.  "Good  condition,  too; 
only  the  soap  dish  has  a  nick.  You  can  have  it 
for  two-fifty." 

But  Dink  had  no  eyes  for  the  commonplace. 
[67] 


THE    VARMINT 

"Could  I  see  the  other,"  he  said,  "before  I 
decide?  " 

Macnooder  appeared  loth  to  exert  himself  to 
no  purpose. 

"  You  wouldn't  cotton  to  it,  bub,"  he  said,  with 
a  shake  of  his  head. 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  about  that,"  said  the  Tennes- 
see Shad.  "This  chap's  no  bottle  baby;  he's 
more  of  a  sport  than  you  think.  I'll  bet  you 
he's  got  a  few  swagger  trophies,  in  the  line  of 
signs,  himself." 

"  I've  got  two  or  three  might  strike  your 
fancy,"  said  Dink  with  a  reckless  look. 

"  Come  on,  Doc,  don't  be  so  infernally  lazy. 
You're  the  deuce  of  a  salesman.  Out  with  the 
crockery." 

"What's  the  use?"  said  Doc  half  heartedly, 
moving  back  into  the  litter  of  the  closet. 

"  Don't  get  it  unless  you  can  afford  it,"  said 
the  Tennessee  Shad  in  a  friendly  whisper. 

When  at  length  the  souvenir  set  had  been 
carefully  displayed  on  the  top  of  a  box,  cleared 
for  the  occasion,  Stover  beheld  a  green  and  white 
pitcher,  rising  like  a  pond  lily  from  the  depths 
of  a  red  and  white  basin,  while  a  lavender  tooth 
mug,  a  blue  cup  and  a  pink  soap  dish  gave  the 
whole  somewhai  the  effect  of  an  aurora-borealis. 

The  Tennessee  Shad  sprang  up  and  examined 
each  piece  with  a  connoisseur's  enthusiasm. 
[68] 


THE    VARMINT 

The  lavender  tooth  mug,  especially,  attracted 
his  curiosity.  He  looked  it  over,  handled  it 
gingerly,  holding  it  to  the  light. 

"Don't  think  this  is  up  to  the  rest,"  he  said 
finally,  looking  at  Doc.  "  It's  cracked." 

"  Suppose  it  is !  "  said  Doc  scornfully.  "  Do 
you  know  whose  that  is?  That  was  swiped  out 
of  the  set  of  Brother  Baldwin." 

"No?" 

"  Fact.  Last  day  of  spring  term,  when  he 
was  giving  a  math  exam." 

"  You  don't  say  so !  " 

"What  are  the  rest?  "  said  Stover,  wondering 
what  sum  could  possibly  compensate  for  such 
treasures. 

"  The  rest  are  not  so  much ;  from  the  other 
houses,  but  they're  good  pieces.  The  water 
pitcher  was  traded  by  Cap  Kiefer,  catcher  of 
the  nine,  you  know.  But  there's  one  article," 
said  Doc,  pointing  melodramatically,  "that's 
worth  the  whole  lot.  Only  I'll  have  to  put  you 
under  oath — both  of  you." 

The  Tennessee  Shad,  puzzled,  looked  hard  at 
Macnooder  and  raised  his  right  hand.  Stover, 
blushing,  followed  suit. 

"  That,"  said  Macnooder,  "  came  direct  from 
Foundation  House.  That  belonged  to  his  Nibs 
himself!" 

"  Come  off !  "  said  the  Tennessee  Shad,  not  dar- 
[69] 


THE   VARMINT 

ing  to  look  at  Macnooder.     "That's  a  bunco 
game." 

"  I  didn't  say  it  was  swiped/'  said  Macnooder 
indignantly.  "  Just  give  me  a  chance,  will  you? 
It  was  smashed  up  at  the  fire  scare  and  thrown 
away  with  a  lot  of  other  things.  Tough  Me- 
Carty,  down  at  the  Green,  I  think,  has  got  the 
slop  jar." 

"  Excuses !  "  said  the  Tennessee  Shad.  "  I  did 
think  for  a  moment  you  were  trying  to  impose 
on  my  young  confidence.  Gee!  Just  think,  of 
it!  Cracky,  what  a  prize!  The  Doctor  him- 
self— well — well!  Say,  I'd  like  to  make  a  bid 
myself." 

"  It  goes  with  the  set,"  said  Macnooder.  "  It 
ain't  mine;  I'm  only  getting  the  commission." 

Stover,  having  caressed  each  article,  drew  a 
long  breath  and  said  falteringly: 

"  I  suppose  it  comes  pretty  high !  " 

"  Of  course  it's  worth  more  than  the  other 
set." 

"Oh,  of  course." 

"  The  price  set  on  it  was  four  flat." 

"  That's  a  good  deal  of  money,"  said  the  Ten- 
nessee Shad.  "  Specially  when  you've  got  to  fit 
yourself  out." 

"  Well,  the  other's  cheaper  at  two-fifty,"  said 
Macnooder. 

"  Stover's  sort  of  set  his  heart  on  this,"  said 
the  Tennessee  Shad.    "Haven't  vou,  Sport?" 
[70] 


THE    VARMINT 

Stover  confessed  that  he  had, 

"  Come  on ;  make  him  a  better  price,  Doc." 

"I'd  have  to  consult  my  client." 

"Well,  consult  your  old  client." 

Macnooder  disappeared. 

"  Stand  firm  now,"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad, 
"you  can  beat  him  down.  Doc  wants  to  make 
his  commish.  I  tell  you  what  I'd  do  if  I  were 
you." 

"What?" 

"  If  I  were  looking  for  a  real  trophy  I'd  make 
him  a  bid  on  this.  This  is  the  best  thing  in  the 
whole  caboodle.  Come  over  here.  Say,  just 
cast  your  eyes  on  this ! " 

Stover  gazed  in  awe.  On  the  wall,  suspended 
on  the  red  and  black  flag  of  the  school,  were  a 
pair  of  battered  and  torn  football  shoes,  while 
underneath  was  a  photograph  of  Flash  Condit 
and  the  score — Princeton  'Varsity,  8 ;  Lawrence- 
ville,  4. 

"Gee!"  said  Stover.  "He  wouldn't  sell 
those!" 

"  He  might,"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad.  "  Be- 
tween you  and  me  and  the  lamppost,  Doc  is 
devilishly  hard  up.  Offer  him  a  couple  of  dol- 
lars and  see." 

"  The  shoes  that  made  the  touchdown,"  said 
Dink  reverentially.  The  Tennessee  Shad  did 
not  contradict  him. 

Half  an  hour  later  Dink  Stover  sallied  forth 
[71] 


THE   VARMINT 

with  the  ecstasy  of  a  collector  who  has  just  dis- 
covered an  old  master.  Klondike  Jackson,  who 
shook  up  the  beds  at  the  Dickinson,  preceded 
him,  drawing  in  an  express  wagon  the  lamp,  the 
padlocked  kerosene  can  and  the  souvenir  set, 
slightly  reduced.  Wrapped  in  tissue  paper, 
tucked  under  Stover's  arm,  were  the  precious 
shoes,  which  he  had  purchased  on  the  distinct 
understanding  that  Macnooder  should  have  the 
right  to  redeem  them  at  any  time  before  the  end 
of  the  term,  on  the  payment  of  costs  and  fifty- 
per-cent  interest.  In  Stover's  pocket  was  a  new 
fountain  pen,  a  box  of  elastics,  a  pair  of  Boston 
garters  and  a  patent  nail  clipper.  Only  the 
limits  of  his  exchequer  had  prohibited  his  avail- 
ing himself  of  the  opportunity  to  purchase,  at 
a  tremendous  bargain,  a  pair  of  snow-shoes,  a 
tobogganing  cap  and  a  pair  of  corduroy  trousers, 
slightly  spotted. 

Luckily  for  Dink,  marching  warily  behind 
the  vanguard,  the  three  o'clock  recitation  had 
begun,  and  but  a  scattering  of  his  schoolmates 
were  abroad  to  witness  his  progress. 

He  arrived  thus,  virtually  unnoticed,  at  the 
Green  and,  with  the  help  of  Klondike,  arranged 
his  possessions  so  as  to  make  the  greatest  dis- 
play. 

He  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  floor, 
clutching  the  historic  shoes  and  searching  the 
[72] 


THE   VARMINT 

walls  for  the  proper  place  of  honor,  when  But- 
sey  White  blew  in. 

"Where  in  thunder  have  you  been?"  he  ex- 
claimed, and  then  stopped  at  the  sight  of  the 
twisted  lamp.  He  looked  at  Dink,  gave  a  grunt 
and  examined  the  new  purchase. 

"Broken-winded,  spavined,  has  the  rickets' — 
bet  it  leaks  and  won't  burn.  Where  in " 

All  at  once  he  perceived  the  kerosene  can, 
with  its  attached  padlock. 

"What's  this  thing?"  he  said,  in  genuine  sur- 
prise, picking  it  up  with  two  fingers  and  re- 
garding it  with  a  look  of  blank  incomprehen- 
sion. 

"  That's  the  safety  can,"  said  Stover,  yielding 
to  a  vague  feeling  of  uneasiness. 

"What's  this?" 

"That's  a  padlock," 

"What  for?" 

"Why,  for  the  kerosene." 

"What  kerosene?" 

"The  kerosene  for  the  lamp." 

"  Why,  you  nincompoop,  we  don't  furnish  the 
kerosene." 

"We  don't?"  said  Stover  faintly,  with  a  hor- 
rible sinking  feeling.  "Don't  furnish  the  kero- 
sene?" 

"Who  got  hold  of  you?"  said  Butsey,  too  as- 
tounded to  laugh. 

[73] 


THE    VARMINT 

"I  met  Macnooder " 

"And  the  Tennessee  Shad,  I'll  bet  my  pants 
on  it,"  said  Butsey. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"What  else  did  they  unload  on  you?" 

"Why — why,  I  bought  a  souvenir  set," 

"A  what?" 

"  A  souvenir  toilet  set." 

Butsey  wheeled  to  the  washstand,  uttered 
a  shriek  and  fell  in  convulsions  on  the  bed. 

Stover  stood  stockstill,  gazing  in  horror  from 
the  variegated  crockery  to  Butsey,  who  was 
thrashing  to  and  fro  in  hysterical  flops,  holding 
both  the  pillows  where  they  would  most  ease 
the  agony.  Then,  with  a  sudden  deft  move- 
ment, Dink  dropped  the  historic  shoes,  sent  them 
under  the  bed  with  a  savage  kick  and,  rushing 
to  the  window,  threw  the  safety  can  into  the 
tall  grass  of  the  fields  beyond.  Then  he  returned 
solemnly,  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  took 
his  head  in  his  hands  and  began  to  do  some 
rapid  thinking.  Butsey  White,  prone  on  the 
bed,  burying  his  head  in  the  covers,  by  painful 
degrees  returned,  gasping,  to  self-control. 

"Mr.  White,"  said  Dink  solemnly. 

There  was  a  slight  commotion  opposite  and 
a  hand  fluttered  beseechingly,  while  Butsey's 
weak  voice  managed  to  say: 

"  Take  it  away — take  it  away." 
[74] 


THE   iYARMINT 

Dink  rose  and  cast  a  towel  over  the  set  of 
seven  colors,  and  then  resumed  his  seat. 

"It's  all  right;  I've  hidden  it,"  he  said. 

Butsey  rolled  from  the  bed,  tottered  over  to 
his  own  washstand  and  drank  deeply  from  the 
water  pitcher.  Then  he  turned  on  the  melan- 
choly Stover. 

"  Say ! " 

"  Go  ahead !    Soak  it  to  me ! " 

"I  thought  you  were  old  enough  to  go  out 
alone." 

"They  lied  to  me,"  said  Stover,  kicking  a 
chair. 

"  Say  that  again." 

"  They  lied,"  repeated  Dink,  but  with  a  more 
uncertain  note. 

"  This  from  you !  "  said  Butsey  maliciously. 

A  great  ethical  light  burst  over  Dink.  He 
scratched  his  head  and  then  looked  at  Butsey, 
grinning  a  sheepish  grin. 

"Well,  I  guess  it  was  coming  'to  me — but 
they  are  wonders!"  he  said,  with  reluctant  ad- 
miration. "I'll  take  my  medicine,  but  I'll  get 
back  at  them,  by  jiminy !  You  see  if  I  don't." 

•«.  For  the  love  of  Mike,  give  us  the  story ! " 

"You'll  keep  it  twenty-four  hours?" 

"  So  help  me " 

"  I'm  a  sucker,  all  right,"  said  Dink  ruefully. 
Then  he  stopped  and  blurted  out :  "  Say,  White, 
[75] 


THE   VARMINT 

I  guess  it  was  about  what  I  needed.  I  guess  I'm 
not  such  a  little  wonder-worker,  after  all.  I've 
been  fresh — rotten  fresh.  But,  say,  from  now 
on  I'm  holding  my  ear  to  the  ground ;  and  when 
it  comes  to  humbly  picking  up  a  few  crumbs  of 
knowledge  you'll  find  me  ready  and  willing.  I'm 
reformed.  ^Now,  here's  the  tale : " 


[76] 


VI 

Dink,  under  the  influence  of  the  new  emotion, 
made  a  fairly  full  confession,  merely  overlook- 
ing the  shoes  that  Flash  did  not  carry  over  the 
Princeton  goal  line,  and  suppressing  that  detail 
of  the  Foundation  House's  supposed  contribu- 
tion, which  had  lent  such  a  peculiar  value  to 
the  souvenir  crockery  set.  By  four  o'clock  But- 
sey  White  had  sufficiently  recovered  to  remem- 
ber the  afternoon  baseball  match. 

Ten  minutes  later  Dink,  lost  in  a  lapping 
baseball  suit  lent  by  Cheyenne  Baxter,  re-en- 
forced with  safety  pins,  stationed  himself  in  the 
outfield  behind  a  catcher's  mitt,  for  preliminary 
practice  with  little  Susie  Satterly  and  Beekstein 
Hall,  who  was  shortsighted  and  wore  glasses. 

The  result  of  five  minutes'  frantic  chasing  was 
that  Dink,  who  surprised  every  one  by  catching 
a  fly  that  somehow  stuck  in  his  glove,  was 
promoted  to  centerfield ;  Susie  Satterly,  who  had 
stopped  two  grounders,  took  left;  while  Beek- 
stein was  ignominiously  escorted  to  a  far  posi- 
tion in  rightfield  and  firmly  requested  to  stop 
whatever  he  could  with  his  chest. 

The  Cleve  cohorts  arrived,  thirty  strong,  like 
[77] 


THE   VARMINT 

banditti  maching  to  sack  a  city,  openly  voicing 
their  derision  for  the  nine  occupants  of  the 
Green  House.  The  contest,  which  at  first  sight 
seemed  unequal,  was  not  in  reality  so,  Tough 
McCarty  and  Cheyenne  Baxter  being  an  unus- 
ually strong  battery,  while  the  infield,  with  But- 
sey  White  at  first,  the  White  Mountain  Canary 
at  second,  Stuffy  Brown  short-stop  and  the 
Coffee-colored  Angel  at  third,  quite  outclassed 
the  invaders.  The  trouble  was  in  the  outfield — 
where  the  trouble  in  such  contests  are  sure  to 
congregate. 

Stover  had  never  been  so  thoroughly  fright- 
ened in  his  life.  His  imagination,  boylike,  was 
aghast  at  the  unknown.  A  great  question  was 
to  be  decided  in  a  few  minutes,  when  his  turn 
would  come  to  step  up  to  the  box  and  expose 
himself  to  the  terrific  cannonade  of  Nick  Carter, 
the  lengthy  pitcher  of  the  Cleve.  The  curious 
thing  was  that  on  this  point  Stover  himself  was 
quite  undecided.  Was  he  a  coward,  or  was  he 
not?  Would  his  legs  go  back  on  him,  or  would 
he  stand  his  ground,  knowing  that  the  stinging 
ball  might  strike  anywhere — on  the  tender  wrist 
bones,  shattering  the  point  of  the  elbow,  or  land- 
ing with  a  deadly  thud  right  over  his  temple, 
which  he  remembered  was  an  absolutely  fatal 
spot? 

His  first  two  innings  in  the  field  were  a  com- 
[78] 


THE    VARMINT 

plete  success — not  a  ball  came  his  way.  With 
his  fielding  average  quite  intact  he  came  in  to 
face  the  crisis. 

"Brown  to  the  bat,  Stover  on  deck,  Satterly 
in  the  hole,"  came  the  shrill  voice  of  Fate  in  the 
person  of  Shrimp  Davis,  the  official  scorer. 

Stover  nervously  tried  one  bat  after  another; 
each  seemed  to  weigh  a  ton.  Then  Cheyenne 
Baxter  joined  him,  crouching  beside  him  for  a 
word  of  advice. 

"Now,  Dink,"  he  said  in  a  whisper,  keeping 
his  eye  on  Stuffy  Brown,  who,  being  unable  to 
hit  the  straightest  ball,  was  pawing  the  plate 
and  making  terrific  preparatory  swings  with 
his  bat.  "  Now,  Dink,  listen  here.  ( Pick  out  an 
easy  one,  Stuffy,  and  bang  it  on  the  nose.  Hi-yi, 
good  waiting,  Stuffy)  Nick  Carter's  wild  as  a 
wet  hen.  All  he's  got  is  a  fast  outcurve.  Now, 
what  you  want  to  do  is  to  edge  up  close  to  the 
plate  and  let  him  hit  you.  (Oh,  robber!  That 
wasn't  a  strike!  Say,  Mr.  Umpire,  give  us  a 
square  deal,  will  you?)  Walk  right  into  it,  Dink, 
and  if  it  happens  to  hit  you  on  the  wrist  rub 
above  the  elbow  like  the  mischief." 

"Above  the  elbow?"  said  Dink  in  a  hollow 
voice. 

"That's  it.  You've  got  a  chance  to  square 
yourself  with  the  House.  Step  right  into  it. 
What?  Three  strikes?  Say,  Mr.  Umpire, 
[79] 


THE    VARMINT 

you're  not  taking  Nick  Carter's  word  for  it,  are 
you?  " 

Amid  a  storm  of  execrations  Stuffy  Brown 
retired,  appealing  frantically  to  the  four 
quarters  of  the  globe  for  justice  and  a 
judge. 

Impelled  by  a  resounding  whack,  Dink  ap- 
proached the  plate  as  a  balky  horse  tries  his 
hoofs  in  a  pool  of  water.  He  spread  his  feet 
and  shouldered  his  bat,  imitating  the  slightly- 
crouching  position  of  Cheyenne  Baxter.  Then 
he  looked  out  for  a  favorable  opening.  The 
field  was  thronged  with  representatives  of  the 
Cleve  House.  He  turned  to  first  base — it  was 
miles  away.  He  looked  at  Nick  Carter,  sav- 
agely preparing  to  mow  him  down,  and  he 
seemed  to  loom  over  him,  infringing  on  the 
batter's  box. 

"Why  the  devil  don't  they  stick  the  pitcher 
back  and  give  a  fellow  a  chance?  "  he  thought, 
eying  uneasily  the  quick,  jerky  preparations. 
"Why,  at  this  distance  a  ball  could  go  right 
through  you." 

"  Come  on,  Nick,  old  boy,"  said  a  voice  issuing 
from  the  iron  mask  at  his  elbow.  "We've  got 
an  umpire  that  can't  be  bluffed.  This  is  noth- 
ing but  a  Statue  of  Liberty.  Chop  him  right 
down." 

Dink  shivered  from  the  ground  up,  Carter's 
[80] 


THE   VARMINT 

long  arms  gyrated  spasmodically,  and  the  ball, 
like  the  sweep  of  a  swallow  from  the  ground, 
sprang  directly  at  him.  Stover,  with  a  yell, 
flung  himself  back,  landing  all  in  a  heap. 

"Ball  one,"  said  the  umpire. 

A  chorus  of  taunts  rose  from  the  Green  House 
nine, 

"  Trying  to  put  him  out,  are  you?" 

"  Mucker  trick ! " 

"Put  him  out!" 

"Good  eye,  Dinky!" 

"  That's  the  boy." 

Stover  rose,  found  his  bat  and  ruthfully 
forced  himself  back  to  his  position. 

"  I  should  have  let  it  hit  me,"  he  said  angrily, 
perceiving  Baxter's  frantic  signals.  "  It  might 
have  broken  a  rib,  but  I'd  have  showed  my 
nerve." 

Clenching  his  bat  fiercely  he  waited,  resolved 
on  a  martyr's  death.  But  the  next  ball  coming 
straight  for  his  head,  he  ducked  horribly. 

"  Ball  two — too  high,"  said  the  umpire. 

Stover  tightened  his  belt,  rapped  the  plate 
twice  with  his  bat,  as  Butsey  had  done,  and  re- 
sumed his  position.  But  the  memory  of  the 
sound  the  ball  had  made  when  it  had  whistled 
by  his  ears  had  unnerved  him.  Before  he  could 
summon  back  his  heroic  resolves  Carter,  with  a 
sudden  jerk,  delivered  the  ball.  Involuntarily 
[31] 


THE   VARMINT 

Stover  stepped  back,  the  ball  easily  and  slowly 
passed  him  and  cut  the  corner  of  the  plate. 

"Ball  three,"  said  the  umpire  hesitatingly. 

The  Cleve  catcher  hurled  his  mask  to  the 
ground,  Carter  cast  down  his  glove  and  trod  on 
it,  while  the  second  baseman  fell  on  his  bag  and 
wept. 

When  order  was  restored  Stover  dodged  the 
fourth  wild  ball  and  went  in  a  daze  to  first, 
where  to  his  amazement  he  was  greeted  with 
jubilant  cheers. 

"You're  the  boy,  Dinky." 

"  You've  got  an  eye  like  Charlie  De  Soto." 

"  They  can't  fool  Rinky  Dink." 

"Why,  he's  a  wonder." 

"Watch  him  steal  second." 

Stover  slapped  his  foot  on  first  base  with  the 
joy  of  unhoped-for  victory.  He  glowered  about 
his  own  possessions.  The  perspective  had  sud- 
denly changed;  the  field  was  open,  all  his,  the 
Cleve  House  representatives  were  a  lot  of  dubs, 
butterfingers  and  fumblers,  anyhow!  Under 
Cheyenne  Baxter's  directions  he  went  plunging 
down  to  second,  slid,  all  arms  and  legs,  safely 
on  to  the  bag,  thanks  to  a  wild  pitch,  and  rose 
triumphantly,  blowing  the  dust  from  his  mouth. 

There  he  remained,  as  Susie  Satterly  and 
Beekstein  methodically  struck  out. 

But  the  joy  of  that  double  voyage  was  still 
[82] 


THE   VARMINT 

on  him  as  lie  went  back  to  centerfield,  ready  to 
master  the  hottest  liner  or  retrieve  the  sky- 
scraping  fly.  It  was  a  great  game.  He  felt  a 
special  aptitude  for  it  and  wondered  why  he  had 
never  discovered  the  talent  before.  He  began 
to  dream  of  sizzling  two-baggers  and  long  home- 
runs  over  the  fence. 

"  I  wish  I'd  get  a  chance,"  he  said,  prancing 
about  digging  vicious  holes  in  the  glove,  that 
looked  like  a  chest  protector.  "  I'd  show  'em 
what  I  can  do  out  here." 

But  no  chance  came.  The  battle  was  be- 
tween pitchers,  and  to  the  surprise  of  every 
one  the  Green  House  came  up  to  the  last  inn- 
ing with  the  score  of  2  to  1  in  their  favor, 
the  solitary  run  of  the  Cleve  being  due  to  a  fly 
that  Beekstein  had  failed  to  notice. 

The  Green  House  nine  went  jubilantly  out 
into  the  field  for  the  last  half  of  the  ninth  inn- 
ing, determined  to  shut  out  the  Cleve  and  end 
the  season  with  at  least  one  victory. 

Dink  ran  out  on  his  tiptoes,  encased  himself 
in  his  mitt  and  turned,  tense  and  alert.  He 
had  gone  through  his  first  ordeal  triumphantly. 
No  chances  had  come  to  him  in  the  field,  but 
at  bat  he  had  accidently  succeeded  in  being  hit, 
and  though  he  had  struck  out  the  next  time  he 
had  hit  a  foul  and  knew  the  jubilant  feeling 
that  came  with  the  crack  of  the  bat. 
[83] 


THE    VARMINT 

"  Give  me  a  week  and  I'll  soak  'em  out,"  he 
said,  moving  restlessly,  and  he  added  to  himself : 
"Strike  'em  out,  Cheyenne,  old  man!  They're 
easy." 

But  the  Cleves  suddenly  woke  up  and  began 
to  fight.  One  man  beat  out  a  grounder,  and  one 
struck  out;  another  error  of  the  temperamental 
White  Mountain  Canary  put  a  man  on  third 
and  one  on  second.  Then  Cheyenne,  pulling 
himself  together,  made  his  second  strike-out. 

"Two  out,  play  for  the  batter,"  came  Chey- 
enne Baxter's  warning  hallo. 

"Two  out,"  said  Dink  to  his  fellow-fielders. 
"  One  more  and  we  spink  'em.  Come  on,  now !  " 

Both  sides  settled  for  the  final  play,  the  man 
on  second  leading  well  up  toward  third. 

"  Steady !  "  said  Cheyenne. 

Stover  drew  in  his  breath  and  rose  to  his  toes, 
as  he  had  done  thirty  times  already. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  sharp  crack,  and  the 
ball  meeting  the  bat,  floated  fair  and  free,  out 
toward  eenterfield. 

Dink  did  not  have  to  move  a  step ;  in  fact,  the 
ball  rose  and  fell  straight  for  the  massive  mitt 
as  though  it  had  chosen  his  glove  from  all  the 
other  gloves  in  the  field.  It  came  slowly,  end- 
lessly, the  easiest,  gentlest,  most  perfect  fly 
imaginable,  directly  for  the  large  brown  mitt 
that  looked  like  a  chest  protector. 
[84] 


THE    VARMINT 

Stover,  turned  to  stone,  saw  it  strike  fair  in 
the  middle,  and  then,  irresistibly,  slowly,  while, 
horribly  fascinated,  he  stood  powerless,  slowly 
trickle  over  the  side  of  the  mitt  and  drop  to  the 
ground. 

Dink  did  not  stop  for  a  look,  for  a  second 
thought,  to  hesitate  or  to  deliberate.  He  knew ! 
He  gave  a  howl  and  broke  for  the  House,  and 
behind  him,  pell-mell,  shrieking  and  murderous, 
like  a  pack  of  hounds  in  full  cry,  came  the  van- 
quished, thirsting  body  of  the  Green. 

He  cleared  the  fence  with  one  hand,  took  the 
road  with  two  bounds,  fled  up  the  walk,  burst 
through  the  door,  jumped  the  stairs,  broke  into 
his  room,  slammed  the  door,  locked  it,  backed 
the  bed  against  it  and  seized  a  chair. 

Then  the  Green  House  struck  the  door  like 
a  salvo  of  grapeshot. 

"Open  up,  you  robber!" 

"  Open  the  door,  you  traitor ! " 

"  You  Benedict  Arnold!  " 

"  Open  up,  you  white-livered  pup ! " 

"You  quitter!" 

"  You  chick enheart !  " 

"You  coward!" 

Stover,  his  hair  rising,  seized  the  wooden 
chair  convulsively,  waiting  for  the  door  to  burst 
in. 

All  at  once  the  transom  swung  violently  and 
[85] 


THE   VARMINT 

the  wolfish  faces  of  Tough  McCarty,  the  White 
Mountain  Canary,  Cheyenne  and  the  Coffee- 
colored  Angel  crowded  the  opening. 

"Get  back  or  I'll  kill  you,"  said  Dink  in 
frantic  fear,  and,  advancing,  he  swung  the  chair 
murderously.  In  a  twinkling  the  transom  was 
emptied. 

The  storm  of  voices  rose  again. 

"The  freshest  yet!" 

"  The  nerve  of  him !  " 

"Let's  })reak  in  the  door!" 

"Come  out!9' 

"  Come  out,  Freshman !  " 

"  He  did  it  on  purpose ! " 

"  He  chucked  the  game !  " 

"  Wait  till  I  get  my  hands  on  him ! " 

"Til  skin  him!" 

All  at  once  the  face  of  Butsey  White  appeared 
at  the  transom. 

"  Dink,  you  let  me  right  in,  you  hear?  " 

No  answer. 

"  You  let  me  in  right  off ! " 

Still  no  answer. 

"  It's  my  room ;  you  let  me  in  to  my  room,  do 
you  hear?" 

Stover  continued  silent. 

"Dink,"  said  Butsey  in  his  loudest  tones, 
"  I'm  coming  right  over  the  transom.  Don't 
you  dare  to  touch  me ! " 

[86] 


THE   VARMINT 

Stover  again  seized  the  chair. 

Butsey  White,  supported  from  behind,  care- 
fully drew  up  one  foot,  and  then  convulsively 
disappeared  as  Stover  charged  with  the  chair. 

There  was  a  whispered  consultation  and  then 
the  battling  face  of  Tough  McCarty  appeared 
with  a  new  threat: 

"  You  lay  a  hand  on  me  and  I'll  rip  the  hide 
off  you!" 

"  Keep  back !  "  said  Stover  hoarsely. 

"Put  down  that  chair,  you  little  varmint; 
do  you  hear  me?  " 

"  Don't  you  come  over !  " 

"  Yes,  I'm  coming  over,  and  you  don't  dare  to 
touch  me.  You  don't •" 

Stover  was  neither  a  coward  nor  a  hero;  he 
was  simply  in  a  panic  and  he  was  cornered.  He 
rushed  wildly  to  the  breach  and  delivered  the 
chair  with  a  crash,  Tough  McCarty  barely  sav- 
ing himself. 

This  open  defiance  of  the  champion  angered 
the  attacking  party. 

"He  ought  to  be  lynched!" 

"The  booby!" 

"  Wait  till  to-morrow !  " 

Tough  McCarty  reappeared  for  a  brief  second. 

"  I'll  get  you  yet,"  he  said,  pointing  a  finger  at 
the  embattled  Stover.    "You're  a  muff,  a  low- 
down  muff,  in  every  sense  of  the  word ! " 
[87] 


THE   YARMIXT 

Then  succeeded  the  Coffee-colored  Angel: 
"  Wait  till  I  catch  you,  you  Rinky  Dink ! " 
Followed  the  White  Mountain  Canary : 
"You'll  reckon  with  me  for  this!" 
Down    to    Beekstein    Hall,    with    his    black- 
rimmed  spectacles,  each  member  of  the  outraged 
nine  climbed  to  the  transom  and  expressed  his 
unflattering  opinion. 

Stoyer  sat  down,  his  chin  in  his  hands,  his 
eyes  on  the  great,  lumbering  mitt  that  lay  dis- 
honored on  the  floor. 

"I'm  disgraced,"  he  said  slowly,  "disgraced. 
It's  all  over — all  over.  I'm  queered — queered 
forever ! " 


[88] 


EACH    MEMBKR    OF   THE    OUTRAGED    NINE    CLIMBED    TO   THE   TRANSOM   AND 
EXPRESSED    HIS   UNFLATTERING   OPINION 


yn 

Until  dusk,  like  Gilliatt  in  yictor  Hugo's 
Toilers  of  the  Sea,  waiting  for  the  tide  to  swal- 
low him  up,  Stover  sat  motionless,  brooding. 
There  was  only  one  thing  to  do — to  run  away. 
His  whole  career  had  been  ruined  in  a  twinkling. 
He  knew.  There  could  be  no  future  for  him  in 
the  school.  What  he  had  done  was  so  awful 
that  it  could  never  be  forgiven  or  forgotten. 
Why  had  he  run?  If  only  he  had  made  a  quick 
dive  at  the  ball  as  it  had  trickled  off  the  glove 
and  caught  it  before  it  reached  the  ground,  in- 
stead of  standing  there,  horrified,  hypnotized. 
Yes,  he  would  escape,  run  off  to  sea  somewhere— 
anywhere !  But  he  wouldn't  go  home ;  no,  never 
that!  He  would  ship  around  the  Horn,  like  the 
hero  in  that  dreadful  book,  Two  Years  Before 
the  Mast.  He  would  run  away  that  night,  be- 
fore the  story  spread  over  the  whole  school.  He 
would  never  face  them.  He  hated  the  school, 
he  hated  the  Green,  he  hated  every  one  con- 
nected with  it! 

A  tap  came  on  the  door,  and  the  voice  of  But- 
sey  White  said  coldly: 

"  Open  up !  Fuzzy- Wuzzy's  in  the  House ; 
[89] 


THE    YAEMIXT 

you're  safe.    Open  up.    I've  got  to  get  ready  for 
supper." 

Stover  drew  back  the  bed,  unlocked  the  door 
and  waited  with  clenched  fists  for  Butsey  to 
spring  at  him.  Butsey  White,  whose  tempestu- 
ous rage  had  long  since  spent  itself  in  hilar- 
ious laughter,  as,  indeed,  had  been  the  case  with 
the  rest,  thought  it  best,  however,  for  the  pur- 
poses of  authority,  still  to  preserve  a  grave  face. 

"  You're  a  fine  specimen ! "  he  said  curtly. 
"  You've  had  a  beautiful  day  of  it." 

"  Yes,  I  have,"  said  Dink  miserably,  "  a  beau- 
tiful day!" 

Butsey,  to  whom  the  tragedy  of  the  century 
was  nothing  but  an  incident,  had  not  the  slight- 
est suspicion  of  Stover's  absolute,  overwhelm- 
ing despair.  Yet  Butsey,  too,  had  suffered,  and 
profited  by  the  suffering. 

"  You  better  square  up  with  Tough  McCarty," 
he  said,  failing  to  read  the  anguish  in  Stover's 
eyes.  "  You  certainly  were  the  limit." 

"  I  hate  him ! "  said  Dink  bitterly. 

"Why?" 

"  He's  a  bully." 

« Tough  McCarty?    Not  a  bit  of  it." 

"  He  tried  to  bully  me." 

"Why  didn't  you  let  them  in?"  said  Butsey, 
putting  the  part  in  the  middle  of  his  liair  with 
a  dripping  comb. 

[90] 


THE   VAEMINT 

"Let  them  in!" 

"Why,  what  do  you  think  they'd  have  done 
to  you?" 

Stover  had  never  thought  of  that.  After  all, 
what  could  they  have  done  to  him? 

"  I  didn't  think " 

"Eats!"  said  Butsey.  "They  might  have 
pied  you  on  the  bed;  but  that's  nothing  if 
you  lie  face  down  and  keep  your  elbows  in. 
That's  all  you'd  have  got.  Then  it  would  have 
been  over;  now  you've  got  to  square  yourself. 
Well,  brush  up  and  come  down  to  supper,  and 
for  the  love  of  Mike  smile  a  little." 

Butsey  White's  sentiments  neither  consoled 
nor  convinced.  Stover  was  too  firmly  per- 
suaded of  the  enormity  of  his  offense  and  the 
depth  of  his  ignominy. 

In  all  his  life  he  had  never  done  a  more  dif- 
ficult thing  than  to  follow  Butsey  into  the  din- 
ing-room and  face  the  disdainful  glances  of 
those  from  whom  he  had  so  lately  fled. 

He  sat  in  abject  mental  and  physical  suffer- 
ing, his  eyes  on  his  plate,  tasting  nothing  of 
what  went  into  his  mouth,  chewing  mechani- 
cally. 

Mr.  Jenkins,  to  be  affable,  asked  him  how  he 

had  enjoyed  the  day.     He  mumbled  some  reply, 

he  never  knew  what,  hearing  only  the  dreadful 

snicker  that  ran  the  table.    He  refused  the  des- 

[91] 


THE   VARMINT 

sert  and  left  the  table.     It  had  been  a  night- 
mare. 

He  stayed  in  his  room,  watching  from  behind 
the  curtains  his  fellow-beings  romping  and 
shrieking  over  a  game  of  baby-in-the-hat  The 
bottom  had,  indeed,  dropped  out  of  things — the 
universe  was  topsy-turvy.  More  keenly  than  in 
the  afternoon  he  felt  the  utter  hopelessness  of 
his  disgrace.  If  he  could  only  get  away — 
escape  from  it  all.  If  he  only  had  had  five  dol- 
lars in  his  pocket  he  could  have  reached  Trenton 
and  worked  his  way  to  some  seaport  town.  He 
looked  at  the  now  ridiculous  souvenir  toilet  set 
and  bitterly  thought  where  the  precious  dollars 
had  gone — that  story,  too,  would  be  abroad  by 
the  morrow.  The  whole  school  would  probably 
rise  and  jeer  at  him  when  he  entered  chapel  the 
next  morning.  That  night  he  crept  into  his  bed 
to  the  stillness  of  the  black  room,  to  suffer  a 
long  hour  that  first  overwhelming  anguish  that 
can  only  be  suffered  once,  that  no  other  suf- 
fering can  compare  to,  that  is  complete,  because 
the  knowledge  of  other  suffering  has  not  yet 
come,  and  he  who  suffers  suffers  alone.  Then  the 
imagination  came  to  the  rescue.  He  fell  into  bliss- 
ful unconsciousness  by  a  process  of  consoling 
half  dreams  in  which  he  vindicated  himself  by 
feats  of  extraordinary  valor,  carrying  the  suffo- 
cating Tough  McCarty  and  the  Coffee-colored 
[93] 


THE   VAEMINT 

Angel  out  of  burnng  houses  at  the  risk  of  his  own 
life,  and  earning  the  plaudits  of  the  whole 
school. 

Suddenly  a  peal  of  thunder  shook  the  build- 
ing; he  landed  all  in  a  heap  in  the  midst  of  the 
sunlit  floor,  rubbing  his  eyes.  Outside,  the 
morning  came  in  with  warm  embrace;  green 
things  stirred  against  the  window-panes;  the 
flash  of  a  robin's  wing  cut  a  swift  shadow  on 
the  floor  and  was  gone.  Below,  the  horrid 
clanging  of  the  gong  rattled  the  walls  and  called 
on  the  dead  to  rise. 

Dink  gazed  at  the  opposite  bed.  Butsey,  with 
the  covers  wound  around  him,  with  his  knees 
under  his  chin,  was  actually  asleep.  In  great 
alarm  he  went  over  and  shook  him  gently.  One 
eye  opened  and  reproachfully  fastened  on  him. 

"  I  say,  the  gong — the  gong's  rung,  Mr. 
White,"  said  Dink. 

"  The  rising  gong?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Well,  when  the  breakfast  gong  explodes 
wake  me  up." 

The  eyes  shut,  but  presently  reopened  and  a 
muffled  voice  added: 

"  Pour  out  water — washbasin — stick  my  shoes 
over  here." 

Dink  obeyed,  mystified.  Then,  going  to  the 
window,  he  drank  in  all  the  zest  and  glory  of 
[93] 


THE   VARMINT 

green  fields  and  blue  skies  with  woolly  clouds 
drifting  over  the  tingling  air.  Joyfully  he 
turned  for  a  plunge  in  cold  water  and  the  un- 
speakable crockery  set  met  his  eye.  Then  he  re- 
membered. A  shadow  fell  across  the  room;  the 
day  went  into  eclipse.  Mechanically,  heavily, 
he  dressed,  and  the  fever  of  yesterday  sprang  up 
anew. 

Meanwhile,  not  a  sound  in  the  House  except 
down  the  hall  a  snore — a  glorious,  triumphant 
note.  A  second  time  the  gong  took  up  its  dis- 
cordant march.  Then  from  the  cocoon  on  the 
bed  a  flash  of  legs  and  arms  sprang  out  and 
into  the  waiting  garments.  There  was  a  splash 
in  the  basin  that  spattered  the  water  far  and 
near,  and  Butsey,  enveloped  in  a  towel,  rushed 
into  his  upper  garments,  flung  back  his  hair  with 
a  masterful  swooping  stroke  of  the  comb,  and 
bolted  out  of  the  door,  buckling  his  belt  and 
struggling  into  a  sweater.  Down  the  stairs  they 
went  in  the  midst  of  floating  coats,  collars  to 
be  buttoned  and  neckties  to  be  tied;  and  when 
the  last  note  of  the  gong  had  ended  not  a  place 
was  vacant,  though  every  eye  still  drooped  with 
drowsiness. 

Breakfast  over,  Dink  followed  Butsey  to  their 
room  and,  after  the  more  permanent  prepara- 
tions had  been  attended  to,  they  left  for  chapel. 

The  much-dreaded  breakfast  had  passed  with 
[94] 


THE   VARMINT 

but  one  incident;  the  Coffee-colored  Angel,  in 
passing  him  the  sugar,  had  said  in  a  terrific 
whisper : 

"  Fll  get  you  to-day.    I'll  tame  you ! " 

But,  being  still  in  a  nodding  state,  his  anger 
was  contented  with  this  slight  expression. 
Tough  McCarty  had  given  him  just  one  look,  but 
somehow  he  remembered  nothing  else.  The  in- 
stinctive hostility  he  had  felt  at  the  first  meet- 
ing of  their  eyes  rose  anew.  The  Coffee-colored 
Angel  and  the  White  Mountain  Canary  were 
but  incidents;  the  enemy,  le  sacre  Albion,  was 
Tough  McCarty. 

He  went  in  the  current  of  boyhood  past 
Foundation  House  and  around  the  circle  toward 
chapel.  For  the  first  time  the  immensity  of  the 
school  was  before  him  in  the  hundreds  that, 
streaming  across  the  campus  in  thin,  dotted 
lines,  swelled  into  a  compact,  moving  mass  at 
the  chapel  steps.  It  was  more  than  an  institu- 
tion; it  was  a  world,  the  complex,  marvelously 
ordered  World  of  Youth. 

Somehow,  he  did  not  attract  the  attention  he 
had  expected.  His  entrance  into  the  pew  was 
attended  by  no  hilarious  uprising  en  masse.  He 
found  his  place  in  the  gallery,  between  Pebble 
Stone  and  Duke  Straus,  who  sleepily  asked  his 
name  and  went  off  for  a  supplementary  nap  on 
the  shoulder  of  D.  Tanner.  Stone  evidently  had 
[95] 


THE    VARMINT 

heard  nothing  of  his  disgrace,  or  else  was  too 
absorbed  in  a  hurried  conning  of  the  Latin  les- 
son to  make  remarks. 

Dink  lifted  his  head  a  little  and  stole  a 
glance — strange,  no  one  seemed  to  be  paying  the 
slightest  attention  to  him.  Somewhat  aston- 
ished and  unutterably  relieved  he  gazed  down 
at  the  body  of  the  school  marshaled  below,  at 
the  enormous  fifth-formers  who  seemed — and 
never  was  that  illusion  to  fade — the  most  ter- 
rifically immense  and  awesome  representatives 
of  manhood  he  had  ever  seen.  The  benches  were 
hard,  decidedly  so;  but  he  lost  himself  pleas- 
antly in  the  vaulted  roof,  and  gazed  with  re- 
spect at  the  distant  pulpit. 

The  Doctor  ascended  and  swept  the  school 
with  that  glance  peculiar  to  head  masters  which 
convinces  each  separate  boy  it  is  directed  at 
him.  Stover  felt  the  impact  on  his  own  fore- 
head and  dropped  his  eyes  uneasily.  When  the 
hymn  began  he  looked  curiously  among  his  class- 
mates, located  Doc  Macnooder  and  caught  the 
eye  of  the  Tennessee  Shad,  who  winked  at  him 
to  show  him  he  was  still  his  friend. 

Somehow,  his  awful  disgrace  seemed  to  slip 
from  him — the  Green  House  was  but  a  grain  in 
the  sand.  There  were  friends,  undiscovered 
friends,  in  the  mass  before  him,  to  be  won  and 
held.  An  easier  feeling  came  to  him.  When 
[96] 


THE   VARMINT 

the  school  shuffled  out  he  sought  the  Tennes- 
see Shad  and,  holding  out  his  hand  said: 

"  Say,  you  are  wonders;  and  I'm  the  only  liv- 
ing sucker ! " 

"  Dink,  you're  a  real  sport,"  said  the  Tennes- 
see Shad,  pleased ;  "  but  we  did  come  it  pretty 
strong.  Now,  if  you  want  to  turn  in  those 
shoes " 

"  Not  on  your  life !  "  said  Dink.  "  I  deserved 
it,  but — but  look  out  for  next  year !  " 

"  All  right,"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad  with  an 
approving  look.  "If  you  do  us  we'll  take  you 
into  the  firm.  Tack  on  to  me,  and  I'll  pilot  you 
to  The  Roman's." 

Following  his  lanky  guide  Stover  went  in  the 
churning,  lagging  mass  across  to  Memorial  Hall, 
rubbing  elbows  with  the  heroes,  who  stalked 
majestically  in  their  voluminous  bulk,  with  the 
coveted  'Varsity  caps  riding  on  the  backs  of 
their  cropped  heads,  or  being  jostled  by  the 
freckled  imps  who  ran  zigzag,  shrieking  chases 
past  him. 

At  the  steps  they  divided,  some  surging  up- 
ward and  others  crowding  into  the  lower  cor- 
ridor. 

"Below  for  us,"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad, 
pushing  his  way  forward. 

Dink  found  himself  outside  of  one  of  the  dozen 
classrooms  in  a  throng  that  waited  hopefully,  as 
[97] 


THE    VARMINT 

other  classes  waited  hopefully  every  hour  of 
every  day  in  the  hopes  of  an  improbable  cut. 

"  The  Roman,"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad  wisely, 
"is  the  one  master  you  want  to  stand  in  with. 
Study  like  the  devil  the  first  two  weeks;  and  say, 
get  up  on  the  gerund  and  the  gerundive — they're 
his  pets." 

« I  will,"  said  Dink. 

"You  can't  bluff  him  and  you  can't  beat  his 
system,"  continued  the  Tennessee  Shad.  "  If  you 
guess  don't  hesitate ;  jump  at  it.  The  only  thing 
you  can  do  is  to  wait  for  his  jokes,  and  then  grab 
•the  desk  and  weep  for  salvation — it's  his  one 
weak  spot." 

"I  will,"  said  Dink. 

A  cry  of  dismay  went  up  from  the  sentinels  at 
the  window. 

"  Oh,  rats !  Here  he  comes." 

"Oh,  peanuts!" 

"  Oh,  melancholy !  " 

"All  in!" 

Dink  modestly  took  a  seat  in  the  back,  at  the 
end  of  the  row  of  S's  where  he  must  sit.  On 
four  sides,  like  prison  walls  that  no  convict 
might  hope  to  scale,  the  slippery  blackboards 
rose  up  and  bound  them  in.  On  a  raised  stand 
was  the  master's  pulpit  where  presently  The 
Roman  would  come  and  sit,  like  the  watcher  of 
the  galley  slaves  in  Ben  Hur,  with  his  eagle 

[98] 


THE    VARMINT 

glance  sweeping  the  desks  that,  in  regimental 
file,  ran  back  from  him. 

Outside,  through  two  open  windows,  was  the 
warm,  forbidden  month  of  April,  and  the  gate- 
way to  syntax-defying  dreams.  At  this  moment 
Dink's  copy  of  Caesar's  Gallic  Wars  slid  on  to 
the  floor.  He  bent  down,  laboriously  collecting 
the  scattered  pages  and  straightened  up.  Then 
he  glanced  at  the  pulpit.  Directly  in  front  of 
him,  his  eyes  on  his  eyes,  sat  the  big  consular 
frame  of  his  stage  companion  of  the  day  before. 

Dink  gasped  in  horror;  twice  his  hand  went 
instinctively  toward  his  lip,  stopped  half-way 
and  dropped.  Then  his  mouth  opened,  set,  and 
galvanically  he  rose  to  his  feet,  while  the  room 
seemed  to  tip  up. 

He  grasped  the  desk  to  keep  from  slipping, 
never  taking  his  eyes  from  the  Ciceronian  coun- 
tenance and  the  twinkling  orbits  above  the 
slightly  twitching  lips. 

"Dear  me,"  said  a  low,  mocking  voice  with  a 
curious  rising  and  falling  infection,  "  who's  here? 
Another  delegate  to  this  congress  of  scintillat- 
ing intelligences?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Dink  in  a  whisper. 

"Quite  a  valuable  addition,  I  hope.  Yes? 
What  is  the  name?" 

«  John." 

"Well— well?" 

[99] 


THE    VARMINT 

"John  Humperdink  Stover,"  said  Dink  with 
difficulty. 

"Ah,  yes,  Stover:  the  name  is  familiar — very 
familiar,"  said  The  Roman,  with  a  twitch  to  his 
lip  and  a  sudden  jump  of  the  eyebrow.  "  Haven't 
we  met  before?" 

Dink,  suffocating,  nodded.  The  class,  at  a  loss, 
turned  from  one  to  the  other,  watching  for  the 
cue. 

"  Well,  Stover,  come  a  little  nearer.  Take  the 
seat  between  Stone  and  Straus.  Straus  will  be 
better  able  to  take  his  little  morning  nap.  A 
little  embarrassed,  Stover?  Dear  me!  I  shouldn't 
have  thought  that  of  you.  Sit  down  now  and — 
try  to  put  a  little  ginger  into  the  class,  Sto- 
ver." 

Dink  looked  down  and  blushed  until  it  seemed 
as  though  his  hair  would  catch  on  fire.  The 
class,  perceiving  only  that  there  was  a  point  for 
laughter,  burst  into  roars. 

"  There — there,"  said  The  Roman,  stilling  the 
storm  with  one  finger.  "  Just  a  little  joke  be- 
tween us  two;  just  a  little  confidential  joke. 
Now  for  a  bee-ootiful  recitation.  Splendid 
spring  weather — yesterday  was  a  cut;  of  course 
you  all  took  the  hour  to  study  conscientiously — 
eager  for  knowledge.  Fifth  and  sixth  rows  go  to 
the  board." 

While  The  Roman's  modulated  accents  doled 
[100] 


THE    VARMINT 

out  conjugations  and  declensions  Stover  sat, 
without  a  thought  in  his  head,  his  hands  locked, 
staring  out  at  the  green  and  yellow  necktie  that 
rose  on  Pebble  Stone's  collar. 

"Oh,  Lord!  Oh,  Lord!"  he  said  at  last. 
"  Dished !  Spinked !  He'll  flunk  me  every  day. 
I  certainly  am  in  wrong ! " 

He  raised  his  eyes  at  the  enthroned  Natural 
Enemy  and  mentally  threw  down  the  gage  of 
battle  with  a  hopeless,  despairing  feeling  of  the 
three  years'  daily  conflict  that  was  to  come. 
For,  of  course,  now  there  could  be  no  question  of 
The  Roman's  mortal  and  unsparing  enmity.  But 
after  the  first  paralyzing  shock  Dink  recovered 
himself.  It  was  war,  but  the  war  he  loved — the 
war  of  wits. 

The  Roman,  having  flunked  a  dozen  by  this 
time,  had  Channing,  the  Coffee-colored  Angel, 
on  his  feet,  on  delicate  matters  of  syntax. 

"  Top  of  page,  third  word,  Channing — gerund 
or  gerundive?"  said  The  Roman. 

"  Gerund,  sir." 

"  Too  bad ! "  said  The  Roman  musically,  and 
on  a  lower  octave  repeated :  "  Too  bad !  Third 
line,  fifth  word — gerund  or  gerundive?" 

"Gerund,  sir,"  said  the  Coffee-colored  Angel 
with  more  conviction. 

"No  luck,    Channing,   no  luck.     Tenth   line, 
last  word — gerund,  Channing,  or  gerundive?" 
[101] 


THE   iVARMINT 

"  Gerund-ive,"  said  the  Coffee-colored  Angel 
hesitatingly. 

"  Poor  Channing,  he  didn't  stick  to  his  system. 
The  laws  of  probability,  Channing— 

"  I  meant  gerund,"  said  the  Coffee-colored  An- 
gel hastily. 

"  Dear  me !    Really,  Channing?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"Positive?" 

"Absolutely,  sir." 

"  It  icvs  the  gerundive,  Channing." 

The  Coffee-colored  Angel  abruptly  sat  down. 

"Don't  want  to  speculate  any  more,  Chan- 
ning?" 

"No,  sir." 

"No  feeling  of  confidence — no  luck  to-day? 
Try  the  gerundive  to-morrow." 

The  discouraged  began  to  return  from  the 
boards,  having  writ  in  water.  The  Roman,  with- 
out malice,  passed  over  the  rows  and,  from  flunk- 
ing them  individually,  mowed  them  down  in  sec- 
tions. 

"  Anything  from  the  Davis  House  to-day?  No, 
no?  Anything  from  the  Rouse  House  combina- 
tion? Nothing  at  all?  Anything  from  the 
Jackson  twins?  Alas!  How  about  the  D?s  this 
morning?  Davis,  Dark,  Denton,  Deer,  Dickson, 
nothing  from  the  D's.  Let's  try  the  F's.  Farr, 
Fen  ton,  Foster,  Francis,  Finch?  Nothing  from 
[102] 


THE   VARMINT 

the  F's — nothing  from  the  D  F's!  Nothing  at 
all?" 

Dink  burst  into  laughter,  and  laughed  alone. 
The  Roman  stopped.  Every  one  looked  sur- 
prised. 

"  Ah,  Stover  has  been  coached — well  coached," 
said  The  Roman.  "  But,  Stover,  this  is  not  the 
place  to  laugh.  The  D  F's  are  not  a  joke ;  they 
are  painful,  every  day  facts.  Well,  well,  it  has 
been  a  beautiful  recitation  in  the  review — not 
exceptional,  not  exceptional  at  all.  Has  any  one 
the  advance?  Don't  all  rise  at  once.  Strange 
what  trying  weather  it  is — too  sunny,  not 
enough  rain — every  one  rises  exhausted.  Will 
Macnooder  kindly  lead  the  massacre?" 

Macnooder  disdained  to  rise;  one  or^two  fal- 
tered and  tripped  along  for  brief  spaces,  and 
then  sat  down.  The  Roman,  counting  his  dead, 
hesitated  and  called: 

"  Stover." 

"  Me,  sir?  "  said  Dink,  too  astonished  to  rise. 
"Why,  I'm  unprepared,  sir." 

"Unprepared?"  said  The  Roman  with  a 
wicked  smile.  "  I  never  thought  you  would  be 
unprepared,  Stover." 

The  smile  decided  Stover. 

"  I'll  try,  sir,"  he  said. 

"  Very  kind  of  you,  Stover." 

Dink  rose  slowly,  put  the  book  on  his  desk, 
[103] 


THE   VARMINT 

tightened  his  belt,  buttoned  his  coat  and  took 
up  the  prosy  records  of  Csesar.  Pebble  Stone 
showed  him  the  place.  He  straightened  up  and, 
glancing  at  the  first  line,  saw : 

"  Ubi  eo  vent um  est,  Cccsar  initio  orationis 
•  •  • 

"  Csesar,"  began  Dink  in  a  firm  voice. 

" Excellent!"  said  The  Roman. 

"  Csesar,  wherever  the  wind  blew  him,  initiated 
the  orators  .  .  ."  Dink  continued  smoothly, 
after  a  rapid  glance. 

The  Roman,  from  a  listless  attitude,  gripped 
the  desk,  pivoted  clear  on  one  leg  of  his  chair, 
staring  at  the  familiar  text  as  though  it  had  sud- 
denly taken  OIL  life  and  begun  to  crawl  about 
the  page. 

Dink,  resolved  not  to  be  bested,  gravely  and 
fluently  continued  to  glide  on,  without  pause  or 
hitch,  turning  syllables  into  words,  building  sen- 
tences wherever  he  met  an  acquaintance.  On 
and  on  he  went,  glib  and  eloquent,  weaving  out 
of  the  tangled  text  a  picture  that  gradually, 
freeing  itself  from  the  early  restraints,  painted 
in  vivid  detail  a  spirited  conference  between 
Csesar  and  the  German  envoys.  The  class, 
amazed,  resorted  to  their  books;  many  of  the 
unprepared,  quite  convinced,  stared  at  him  as 
though  a  new  rival  to  the  high  markers  had  sud- 
denly appeared. 

The  Roman,  fascinated,  never  quitted  the  text, 
[104] 


THE   VARMINT 

marveling  as  the  tale  ran  on,  leaping  adverbs 
and  conjunctions,  avoiding  whole  phrases,  un- 
dismayed by  the  rise  of  sudden,  hostile  nouns, 
impressing  into  service  whatever  suited  it,  cor- 
rupting or  beating  down  all  obstacles. 

Once  or  twice  he  twitched  spasmodically,  twice 
he  switched  the  leg  of  his  chair,  murmuring  all 
the  while  to  himself.  Finally  he  rose  and, 
slowly  approaching  to  where  Stover  stood, 
glanced  incredulously  at  his  book. 

"Shall  I  stop,  sir?"  said  Stover. 

"  Heaven  forbid ! " 

Stover  completed  the  page  with  a  graphic, 
rushing  account  of  the  athletic  exercises  of  the 
ancient  Germans,  and  sat  down  without  a  smile. 

The  Roman,  back  at  his  post,  wiped  his  eyes 
with  his  handkerchief  and  spoke: 

"Very  well  run,  indeed,  Stover;  excellently 
well  run.  Take  your  breath.  Very  fluent,  very 
vivid,  very  persuasive — a  trifle  free,  a  trifle- 
but,  on  the  whole,  a  very  creditable  performance. 
Very!  I  was  sure,  whatever  you  did,  Stover, 
you  wouldn't  bore  us.  Now,  let  us  see  how  the 
same  passage  will  appeal  to  a  more  prosaic,  less 
richly-endowed  mind." 

Then  Red  Dog  rose  and,  unfeelingly,  brought 
the  scene  back  to  Rome  and  the  deliberations  of 
the  Senate. 

But  this  was  a  detail  that  did  not  interest  Dink 
in  the  least.  He  had  clashed  with  The  Roman 
[105] 


THE    VARMINT 

and  not  retreated.  He  had  his  first  moment  of 
triumph,  attested  by  the  admiring  glances  of  the 
class  and  the  muffled  whisper  of  Straus,  saying : 

"  Gee,  you're  a  peach ! " 

The  session  ended  with  a  solemn  warning  from 
The  Roman. 

"  One  word,"  he  said  in  his  deepest  tones, 
"  just  one  word  to  the  wise.  We  have  journeyed 
together  for  two  whole  terms;  there  is  only  one 
more  between  you  and  reassignment.  Candor 
compels  me  to  say  that  you  have  acquired  not 
even  a  flunking  knowledge."  He  turned  and 
raked  the  awed  ranks  with  the  sweep  of  a  pivot 
gun,  and  then  took  up  again  in  cutting,  chilling, 
spaced  syllables:  "I  have,  in  the  course  of  my 
experience  as  a  teacher,  had  to  deal  with  imbe- 
ciles, had  to  deal  with  mere  idiots;  but  for  sheer, 
determined,  monumental  asininity  I  have  never 
met  the  equal  of  this  aggregation.  I  trust  this 
morning's  painful,  disgraceful,  disheartening  ex- 
perience may  never,  never  be  repeated.  You 
may  go." 

And  Stover,  who  had  brazenly  planned  to  re- 
main and  converse,  went  swiftly  out  with  the 
rest,  little  imagining  that  he  whom  he  had  ranked 
as  a  deadly,  unforgiving:  foe  sat  a  long  while 
chuckling  over  the  marvelous  route  Dink  had 
gone,  murmuring  gratefully  to  himself: 

"  Wherever  the  wind  blew  him,  Caesar  initiated 
the  orators." 

[106] 


ym 

In  the  hallway  the  Coffee-colored  Angel  jabbed 
him  with  his  elbow,  muttering: 

"You  laughed  at  me,  you  miserable  Rinky 
Dink.  I'll  fix  you  for  that." 

He  disappeared  swiftly.  Before  Dink  could 
frame  a  reply  he  was  surrounded  by  an  admiring 
chorus.  The  Tennessee  Shad  and  Macnooder 
shook  hands  with  ceremony. 

"You'll  do,"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad. 

"  You  certainly  will ! "  said  Doc  Macnooder. 

"  You've  made  a  hit  with  Lucius  Cassius,"  said 
the  Tennessee  Shad. 

Dink  shook  his  head ;  he  knew  better. 

"You  must  always  recite — always,"  said  Doc 
Macnooder,  from  his  great  knowledge  of  the 
nature  of  masters.  "Whether  you're  pre- 
pared or  not — recite." 

"  I  will,"  said  Dink. 

"  And  say,  Dink,"  said  Macnooder,  "  keep  that 
outfit  we  sold  you.  There'll  be  more  hayseeds 
in  the  fall." 

Dink  had  thought  of  that;  he  had  thought  of 
something  else,  too,  which  he  craftily  hid  in  his 
own  memory. 

[107] 


THE    VARMINT 

"  Next  fall  I'll  show  them  a  thing  or  two,"  he 
said  gleefully.  "I'll  make  souvenir  crockery 
sets  the  rage." 

The  Coffee-colored  Angel  and  the  petty  annoy- 
ances of  the  Green  House  forgot,  he  went  with  a 
hitch  and  a  kick,  loping  along,  while  his  deli- 
cately-balanced imagination,  now  soaring  above 
the  gloomy  descents  of  the  morning,  swam  joy- 
fully in  the  realms  of  future  triumphs. 

In  this  abstracted  mood  he  passed  Founda- 
tion's gloomy  portals  and  Laloo  standing  in  his 
door  gazing  down  the  road,  and  took  the  leafy 
path  that  led  to  the  Green. 

All  at  once  he  heard  a  battle  cry  and,  turning, 
beheld  the  Coffee-colored  Angel  and  the  White 
Mountain  Canary  spring  from  their  concealment 
and  bear  down  upon  him  with  unmistakable  in- 
tent. Now,  whether  in  a  former  existence  Dink 
had  been  parent  to  the  fox,  or  whether  the  purely 
human  instinct  was  quicker  than  the  reason,  be- 
fore he  knew  what  he  had  done  he  had  bounded 
forward  and  burst  for  home  in  full  flight, 
with  his  heart  pumping  at  his  ribs.  Easily 
distancing  his  pursuers,  he  arrived  at  the 
Green  House  before  it  dawned  upon  him  that  he 
had  been  challenged  and  run  away. 

He  stopped  abruptly  with  clenched  fists, 
breathing  deep. 

"Now  let  them  come,"  he  said,  turning. 
[108] 


THE   VARMINT 

But  the  Coffee-colored  Angel  and  the  White 
Mountain  Canary,  having  abandoned  the  hope- 
less chase,  had  gone  another  way. 

Angry  and  ashamed,  Dink  went  to  his  room, 
vowing  terrific  vengeance.  He  planted  himself 
before  the  mirror  and,  doubling  up  either  arm, 
felt  the  well-hardened  muscles. 

"  There  were  two  of  them,  and  I  didn't  have 
time  to  think,"  he  said.  "  I'll  fight  'em  —  any  of 


Reassured  by  the  scowling  ferocity  of  his  re- 
flected countenance,  he  turned  away.  But,  pass- 
ing near  the  window,  he  saw  the  Coffee-colored 
Angel  and  the  White  Mountain  Canary  come 
inilitantly  up  the  stone  walk.  A  moment  later 
their  steps  sounded  on  the  stairs.  He  went 
hastily  to  the  door  and  shot  the  key.  An  instant 
later  the  door  was  tried,  and  then  the  contemptu- 
ous face  of  the  Coffee-colored  Angel  loomed 
through  the  transom. 

"  I  knew  you  were  yellow  the  moment  I  looked 
at  you,"  he  said  scornfully.  "  Pah  !  " 

Dink  did  not  answer.  He  was  all  in  a  whirl. 
His  action  in  locking  the  door,  so  contrary 
to  his  heroic  resolutions,  left  him  in  confu- 
sion. 

"I  wonder  if  I  really  am  afraid,"  he  said, 
sitting  down-  all  in  a  heap.  The  look  in  the 
Coffee-colored  Angel's  eye  had  brought  him  an 
[109] 


THE   VARMINT 

unpleasant  creeping  sensation  in  the  region  of 
the  back. 

And  yet  the  Coffee-colored  Angel,  bone  for 
bone  and  inch  for  inch,  was  just  what  he  was — 
only  he  had  fled  from  him,  inadvertently,  in- 
stinctively, it  is  true,  yet  feeling  the  running 
menace  at  his  back. 

"  I'm  a  coward !  "  he  said,  staring  at  the  oppo- 
site wall.  "I  must  be  a  coward!  If  I  weren't 
I  would  have  opened  that  door." 

Now,  Dink  had  never  fought  a  real  fight.  He 
had  had  a  few  rough-and-tumble  skirmishes,  but 
a  fight  where  you  stood  up  and  looked  a  man 
in  the  whites  of  the  eyes,  a  deliberate,  planned- 
out  fight,  was  outside  his  knowledge,  in  the  mists 
of  the  unknown.  And  so  his  imagination — 
which  later  should  be  his  strength — recoiled  be- 
fore that  unknown  as  it  had  recoiled  the  moment 
he  stepped  from  the  stage  to  face  his  new  judges ; 
as  it  had  recoiled  in  the  hushed  parlor  before  the 
closed  door  of  the  head  master's  den,  and  again 
at  the  thought  of  stepping  into  the  batter's  box 
and  risking  his  head  against  the  deadly  shoots 
of  Nick  Carter,  of  the  Cleve.  He  had  never 
fought,  therefore  he  was  aghast  at  the  fear  of 
being  afraid. 

"Well,  I  won't  run  again,"  he  said  desper- 
ately. "  I'll  have  it  over  with — he  can  only  lick 
me." 

[110] 


THE   VARMINT 

But  he  did  run  again,  and  often,  despite  all 
his  resolves,  impelled  always  by  the  psycholog- 
ical precedent  that  he  had  run  before. 

The  Coffee-colored  Angel  and  the  White 
Mountain  Canary  made  a  regular  ceremony  of 
it,  raising  a  hue  and  cry  at  the  sight  of  him  and 
bursting  into  derisive  laughter  after  short 
chases. 

Dink  was  miserable  and  now  thoroughly 
frightened.  He  slunk  into  the  solitude  of  his 
own  company,  avoiding  the  disdainful  looks  of 
his  House  mates.  He  knew  now  he  was  a  cow- 
ard and  should  never  be  anything  else.  He  did 
not  blame  Butsey,  who  scarcely  spoke  to  him. 
All  he  thought  of  was,  by  roundabout  ways,  to 
put  off  the  dreadful  hour  when  either  the  Coffee- 
colored  Angel  or  the  White  Mountain  Canary 
should  catch  him  and  beat  him  to  a  quivering, 
senseless  pulp. 

Then  the  unexpected  happened.  One  day,  cut- 
ting across  fields  to  avoid  his  persecutors,  he  was 
suddenly  shut  off  by  the  White  Mountain 
Canary,  who  rose  from  ambush,  jeering  horribly. 
Cut  off  from  the  Green,  Dink  returned  post- 
haste up  the  village,  when  all  at  once  the  Coffee- 
colored  Angel  closed  in  on  him.  Only  one  way 
of  escape  was  open  to  him,  down  an  alley  be- 
tween two  houses.  With  the  Coffee-colored  An- 
gel at  his  heels  he  dashed  ahead,  turned  the  cor- 


THE    VARMINT 

ner  of  the  house  and  found  himself  caught  in  a 
blind  area. 

Whereupon  he  turned  on  the  Coffee-colored 
Angel  and  slathered  him,  drove  him  hither  and 
thither  with  terrific  blows,  knocked  him  head 
over  heels,  caught  him  by  the  throat  and  beat 
him  against  a  wall,  rolled  him  on  the  ground 
and  rubbed  him  in  the  dust,  tore  his  clothes, 
blacked  his  eyes  and  left  him  beaten  and  su- 
pinely, passively  wallowing. 

He  walked  out  on  his  tiptoes,  like  a  terrier, 
head  erect,  his  chest  out,  fists  still  fixed,  tears 
in  his  eyes — tears  of  pride  and  relief.  He  had 
fought  a  fight,  he  had  received  terrific  blows  and 
minded  them  not.  He  had  thrashed  the  Coffee- 
colored  Angel :  he  could  thrash  or  take  a  thrash- 
ing from  any  one.  He  had  his  first  thrill,  the 
thrill  of  conscious  rage,  comparable  only  to  first 
love  and  first  sorrow.  He  had  licked  the  Coffee- 
colored  Angel — he  was  not  a  coward! 

At  this  highly-auspicious  moment  the  unsus- 
pecting White  Mountain  Canary  perceived  the 
despised  object  of  his  chase  and,  raising  a  shout, 
triumphantly  bore  down  upon  him.  With  a 
rush  he  cleared  the  intervening  space  and  then, 
catching  sight  of  the  new  Dink,  stopped  as 
though  he  had  been  jerked  in  by  a  rope. 

•  •  •  •  • 

A  few  moments  later  the  group  on  the  Green 
[112] 


THE   VARMINT 

House  steps  were  lazily  working  out  a  French 
translation,  which  Beekstein,  the  Secretary  of 
the  Department  of  Education,  was  reading  to 
them,  when  suddenly,  in  the  fields  opposite,  two 
figures  appeared,  zigzagging  wildly. 

"Here  comes  the  Dink  again/'  said  Stuffy 
Brown.  "  They'll  get  him  this  time." 

"Who's  after  him?"  said  Tough  McCarty. 
"  He's  a  disgrace  to  the  House." 

"  It's  the  White  Mountain  Canary,"  said  Susie 
Satterly. 

"Hello!"  said  Cheyenne. 

"What?" 

"I'll  be  darned — no — yes — dinged  if  it  isn't 
the  Dink  chasing  the  Canary!" 

As  they  sprang  up,  amazed,  Stover  dove  at 
the  fleeing  tormentor,  caught  him,  and  the  two 
went  down  in  a  heap,  thrashing  to  and  fro. 

"  Well,  I'll  be  jig-swiggered ! "  said  Cheyenne. 

"  I'll  eat  my  pants !  " 

"The  Dink!" 

At  this  moment  the  awful  wreck  of  the  Coffee- 
colored  Angel  limped  up.  A  chorus  broke  out : 

"The  Coffee-colored  Angel!" 

"  Shot  to  pieces !  " 

"  Massacred ! " 

"  Kicked  by  a  horse ! " 

"What  hit  you?" 

"  Dink,"  said  the  Coffee-colored  Angel,  taking 
[113] 


THE    VARMINT 

a  tooth  out  of  his  muddy  mouth.  "I  caught 
him." 

Presently  they  saw  Stover  arise  and  loose  the 
battered  White  Mountain  Canary,  who  broke 
wildly  for  shelter. 

"Well,  anyhow,"  said  the  Coffee-colored  An- 
gel, "Dink's  swallowed  the  Canary." 

"What's  he  up  to  now?"  said  Cheyenne. 

They  watched  him  approach  the  fence,  deliber- 
ately take  off  his  coat,  remove  his  collar  and 
necktie,  tighten  his  belt  and  methodically,  slowly 
roll  up  his  sleeves. 

"  Here  he  comes,"  said  the  Coffee-colored  An- 
gel, moving  swiftly  away.  "  Why,  he's  crying!  " 

Dink  came  up  the  path,  choking  with  rage  and 
the  knowledge  of  his  own  tears,  and  in  front  of 
them  all  threw  down  his  coat. 

"You  thought  I  was  afraid,  did  you?  You 
thought  I  was  a  coward ! "  he  sobbed.  "  Well, 
I-ll  show  you  whether  I'm  afraid  of  you,  any  of 
you,  you  big  bullies!  You  big  stuff,  you,  come 
on!" 

And  suddenly  advancing,  he  squared  off  and 
struck  Tough  McCarty  a  wild  blow,  crash  on  the 
nose. 


[114] 


IX 

They  adjourned  to  a  sheltered  spot  back  of  the 
stump  willows  and  chose  a  bare  space  of  soft, 
green  turf.  At  their  sides  the  brook  ran  splash- 
ing over  the  cool  stones. 

"Who'll  be  Dink's  second?"  said  Cheyenne 
Baxter,  the  referee. 

There  was  an  embarrassed  pause. 

"Go  on,  any  of  you,"  said  Tough  McCarty 
generously. 

"  I'll  be,"  said  the  Coffee-colored  Angel.  "  He 
licked  me  square." 

He  stepped  over  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"  I  don't  want  you — I  don't  want  your  hand ! " 
said  Dink  with  a  scream.  "  I  don't  want  any 
second;  I  won't  have  any!  I  hate  you — I  hate 
the  whole  lot  of  you ! " 

Cheyenne  Baxter  consulted  with  Tough  Me-* 
Carty  and  came  over. 

"  Say,  Dink,"  he  said  kindly,  "Tough  doesn't 
want  to  fight  you  now;  it  isn't  fair.  He'll  give 
you  a  fight  any  time  you  want — when  you're 
fresh." 

"  I  don't  want  to  wait,"  cried  Stover,  blubber- 
ing despite  himself.     "  I'll  fight  him  now.    I'll 
show  him  if  I'm  afraid,  the  big  bully!" 
[115] 


THE    VARMINT 

"  What  rounds  do  you  want?  "  said  Cheyenne, 
seeing  it  was  wisest  not  to  interfere. 

"  I  don't  want  any  rounds,'7  cried  Dink  wildly. 
"  I  want  to  get  at  him,  the  great,  big  mucker ! " 

Cheyenne  went  over  to  Tough,  who  stood 
apart,  looking  very  uncomfortable. 

"  Better  go  on,  Tough.  Don't  hurt  the  little 
varmint  any  more  than  you  have  to." 

It  was  a  strange  fight.  They  stood  around  in 
silence,  rather  frightened  at  Stover's  frenzy. 
Tough  McCarty,  overtopping  his  antagonist  by 
four  good  inches,  stood  on  the  defensive,  seeking 
only  to  ward  off  the  storm  of  frantic  blows  that 
rained  on  him.  For  Dink  cared  not  a  whit 
what  happened  to  him  or  how  he  exposed  him- 
self. 

Blinded  by  rage,  crying  from  sheer  excess  of 
emotion,  shrieking  out  inarticulate  denuncia- 
tions, he  flung  himself  on  McCarty  with  the  reck- 
lessness of  a  mad  dervish,  crying: 

"You  thought  I  was  a  cowrard, — darn  you! 
You  great,  fat  slob !  You  thought  I  was  afraid 
of  a  licking,  did  you?  I'll  show  you.  Lick  me 
now  if  you  can,  you  big  brute!  Lick  me  every 
day  I  I'm  not  afraid  of  you ! " 

"Confound  the  lunatic!"  said  Tough  Mc- 
Carty, receiving  a  solid  thump  in  the  ribs.  "  I 
can't  stand  here,  getting  pummeled  all  day.  Got 
to  hit  him — ouch!" 

[116] 


THE    VARMINT 

Dink,  in  his  frantic  rush,  throwing  himself 
under  his  enemy's  guard,  almost  bore  him  to  the 
ground  by  the  shock  of  his  onslaught,  McCarty, 
angrily  brushing  the  blood  from  his  already  out- 
raged nose  with  the  cuff  of  his  sleeve,  shook 
himself  like  an  angry  bear  and,  catching  Stover 
with  a  straight-arm  blow,  sent  him  rolling  on  the 
turf. 

Back  again  and  again  came  Stover,  hurling 
himself  wildly  onto  the  scientific  fists  that  sent 
him  reeling  back.  The  green  arms  of  the  trees, 
the  gray  faces  of  the  onlookers,  the  blue  of  the 
tilting  sky  rushed  into  the  reeling  earth,  con- 
founded together.  He  no  longer  saw  the  being 
he  was  fighting,  a  white  film  slipped  over  every- 
thing and  then  all  went  out  in  blank  uncon- 
sciousness. 

When  he  opened  his  eyes  again  he  was  on  his 
back,  looking  up  through  the  willows  at  a  puffy 
cloud  that  turned  against  the  blue.  At  his  side 
the  brook  went  softly,  singing  in  whispers  the 
note  that  stirred  the  leaves. 

Something  wet  fell  on  his  face  and  trickled 
uncomfortably  down  his  neck.  Some  one  was 
applying  a  dripping  cloth. 

"Coming  to?"  said  Cheyenne  Baxter. 

Then  Dink  remembered. 

"Where  is  he?  "  he  cried,  trying  to  spring  up. 
"  Fight  him, — fight  him  to  the  end !  " 
[117] 


THE    VARMINT 

A  strong  hand  pressed  him  down. 

"  There,  there,  you  fire-eater !  "  said  Cheyenne. 
"  Go  easy.  You've  had  enough  blood  for  one 
afternoon.  Lie  back.  Shut  your  eyes." 

He  heard  whispering  and  the  sound  of  voices 
going,  and  lost  consciousness  again. 

When  he  saw  the  face  of  the  day  once  more  he 
was  alone  with  Cheyenne,  who  was  kneeling  by 
his  side,  smiling  as  he  watched  him. 

"Better  now?" 

" I'm  all  right" 

"  Let  me  carry  you." 

"I  can  stand." 

Cheyenne's  good  right  arm  caught  him  as  he 
tottered  and  held  him. 

"I'm  all  right,"  said  Dink  gruffly. 

Aided  by  Cheyenne,  he  went  weakly  back  to 
the  Green.  At  the  steps  Tough  McCarty  sprang 
up  and  advanced  with  outstretched  hand,  say- 
ing: 

"  Put  her  here,  Dink ;  you're  dead  game !  " 

Stover  put  his  hand  behind  his  back. 

"  I  don't  want  to  shake  hands,"  he  said,  flush- 
ing and  gazing  at  Tough  McCarty  until  the 
pupils  of  his  eyes  seemed  to  dwindle,  "with  you 
or  any  of  you.  I  hate  you  all ;  you're  a  gang  of 
muckers.  I'll  fight  you  now:  I'll  fight  you  to- 
morrow. You're  too  big  for  me  now,  but  I'll 
lick  you — I'll  lick  you  next  year — you,  Tough 
[118] 


THE   VARMINT 

McCarty— or  the  year  after  that;  you  see  if  I 
don't!" 

Tough  McCarty  stood  back,  rightfully  of- 
fended. Cheyenne  led  Dink  up  to  his  room  and 
lectured  him. 

"Now,  young  bantam,  listen  to  me.  You've 
shown  your  colors  and  we  respect  you  for  it. 
But  you  can't  fight  your  way  into  being  liked — 
put  that  in  your  pipe  and  smoke  it.  You've  got 
to  keep  a  civil  tongue  in  your  head  and  quit 
thinking  this  place  was  built  for  your  special 
benefit.  Savez?  You've  got  to  win  your  way 
if  you  want  to  be  one  of  us.  Now,  when  you  get 
your  head  clear,  go  down  and  apologize  to  Tough 
McCarty  and  the  Angel,  like  a  man." 

The  advice,  which  a  day  later  would  have  been 
gratefully  received,  came  inopportunely  for 
Dink's  overwrought  nerves.  He  gave  an  angry 
answer — he  did  not  want  to  be  friends — he  hated 
them  all — he  would  never  apologize — never. 

When  Butsey  White  came  with  friendly  offers 
he  cut  him  short. 

"  Don't  you  come  rubbering  around  now,"  he 
said  scornfully.  "  You  went  back  on  me.  You 
thought  I  was  afraid.  I'll  do  without  your 
friendship  now." 

When  a  calmer  view  had  come  to  him  he  re- 
gretted what  he  had  done.  He  eliminated  Tough 
McCarty — that  was  a  feud  of  the  instincts — 
[119] 


THE    VARMINT 

but  it  certainly  had  been  white  of  the  Coffee- 
colored  Angel  to  offer  to  be  his  second ;  Cheyenne 
was  every  inch  a  leader,  and  Butsey  really  had 
been  justified.  Unfortunately,  his  repentance 
came  too  late ;  the  damage  had  been  done.  Only 
one  thing  could  right  him — an  apology  to  the 
assembled  House;  but  as  the  courage  to  apolo- 
gize is  the  last  virtue  to  be  acquired — if  it  ever 
is  acquired — Dink  in  his  pride  would  rather 
have  chopped  off  his  hand  than  admit  his  error. 
They  had  misjudged  him;  they  would  have  to 
come  to  him.  The  breach,  once  made,  widened 
rapidly — due,  principally,  to  Dink's  own  morbid 
pride.  Some  of  the  things  he  did  were  simply 
ridiculous  and  some  were  flagrantly  impudent. 

He  was  one  against  eight — but  one  who  had 
learned  his  strength,  who  feared  no  longer  the 
experiences  he  knew.  He  stood  ready  to  back 
his  acts  of  belligerency  with  his  fists  against 
any  one — except,  of  course,  Butsey  White;  for 
roommates  do  not  fight  unless  they  love  one 
another. 

He  had  always  in  him  the  spirit  of  the  rebel. 
To  be  forbid  a  thing,  with  him,  was  to  do  it  in- 
stantly. He  refused  all  the  service  a  Freshman 
should  do.  At  table  he  took  a  malignant  delight 
in  demanding  loudly  second  and  third  helps  of 
the  abhorrent  prunes — long  after  he  had  come 
to  feel  the  universal  antagonism.  He  would  not 
[120] 


THE   VARMINT 

wake  Butsey  in  the  morning,  fill  his  basin  or 
arrange  his  shoes.  He  would  run  no  errands. 
He  refused  to  say  sir  or  doff  his  hat  to  his  supe- 
riors in  the  morning;  and,  being  better  supplied 
with  money,  he  took  particular  pleasure  in  en- 
tering the  House  with  boxes  of  jiggers  or  tins 
of  potted  meats  and  a  bottle  of  rootbeer,  with 
which  he  openly  gorged  himself  at  night,  while 
Butsey  squirmed  over  the  unappetizing  pages 
of  the  Gallic  Wars. 

Finally,  the  blow  came.  Cheyenne  Baxter,  as 
president  of  the  House,  appeared  one  evening 
and  hurled  on  him  the  ban  of  excommunication 
< — from  that  hour  he  was  to  be  put  in  Coventry. 

From  that  moment  no  one  spoke  to  him  or  by 
the  slightest  look  noticed  his  existence.  Dink 
at  first  attempted  to  laugh  at  this  exile. 

At  every  opportunity  he  joined  the  group  on 
the  steps.  No  one  addressed  him.  If  he  spoke 
no  one  answered.  At  table  the  Coffee-colored 
Angel  no  longer  asked  him  to  pass  his  plate,  but 
passed  it  around  the  other  way.  He  went  out 
in  the  evenings  and  placed  his  cap  in  line  with 
the  other  boys',  but  the  ball  never  went  into  his 
hat.  If  he  stood,  hoping  to  be  hit,  no  one  seemed 
to  notice  that  he  was  standing  there.  For  sev- 
eral days  he  sought  to  brazen  it  out  with  a  mis- 
erable, sinking  feeling,  and  then  he  gave  it  up. 
He  had  thought  he  cared  nothing  for  the  com- 
[121] 


THE    VARMINT 

pany  of  his  House  mates — lie  soon  discovered 
liis  error  and  recognized  his  offending.  But 
apology  was  now  out  of  the  question.  He  was 
a  pariah,  a  leper,  and  so  must  continue — a  thing 
to  be  shunned. 

The  awful  loneliness  of  his  punishment  threw 
him  on  his  own  resources.  At  night  he  lay  in 
his  bed  and  heard  Butsey  steal  out  to  a  midnight 
spread  behind  closed  doors,  or  to  join  a  band 
that,  risking  the  sudden  creak  of  a  treacherous 
step,  went  down  the  stairs  and  out  to  wend 
their  way  with  other  sweltering  bands  across  the 
moonlit  ways,  through  negro  settlements,  where 
frantic  dogs  bayed  at  the  sticks  they  rattled  over 
the  picket  fences,  to  the  banks  of  the  canal  for 
a  cooling  frolic  in  the  none  too  fragrant  waters. 

In  the  morning  he  could  not  join  the  group 
that  congregated  to  listen  to  Beekstein — Secre- 
tary of  Education — straighten  out  the  involved 
syntax  or  track  an  elusive  x  to  its  secret  lair. 
In  the  afternoon  he  could  not  practice  on  the 
diamond  with  them,  learning  the  trick  of  hold- 
ing elusive  flies  or  teaching  himself  to  face  thun- 
derous outshoots  at  the  plate. 

This  enforced  seclusion  had  one  good  result: 
left  to  his  own  devices  his  recitations  improved 
tremendously,  though  this  was  scant  consola- 
tion. 

He  kept  his  own  company  proudly,  reading 
[122] 


THE    VARMINT 

long  hours  into  the  land  of  Dumas  and  Victor 
Hugo;  straying  up  to  the  'Varsity  diamond, 
where  he  cast  himself  forlornly  on  the  grass, 
apart  from  the  groups,  to  watch  Charlie  DeSoto 
dash  around  the  bases,  and  wonderful  Jo  Brown 
on  third  base  scrape  up  the  grounders  and  shoot 
them  to  first. 

He  was  too  proud  to  seek  other  friends,  for 
that  meant  confession.  Besides,  his  own  class- 
mates were  .all  busy  on  their  own  diamonds, 
working  for  the  success  of  their  own  House 
nines. 

Only  when  there  was  a  'Varsity  game  and  he 
was  swallowed  up  in  the  indiscriminate  mass 
that  whooped  and  cheered  back  of  first,  thrilling 
at  a  sudden  crisis,  did  he  forget  himself  a  little 
and  feel  a  part  of  the  great  system.  Once  when, 
in  a  game  with  the  Princeton  Freshmen,  Jo 
Brown  cleared  the  bases  with  a  sizzling  three- 
bagger,  a  fourth-former  he  didn't  know  thumped 
him  ecstatically  on  the  back!  and  he  thrilled 
with  gratitude. 

But  the  rest  was  loneliness,  ever  recurrent 
loneliness,  day  in  and  day  out.  His  only  friends 
were  Charlie  DeSoto  and  Butcher  Stevens  at 
first,  whom  he  could  watch  and  understand — 
feeling,  also,  the  fierce  spirit  of  battle  cooped 
up  and  forbidden  within  him. 

One  night  in  the  second  week  of  June,  when 
[123] 


THE    VARMINT 

Butsey  White  had  gone  to  a  festal  spread  in 
Cheyenne  Baxter's  rooms,  Dink  sat  cheerlessly 
over  the  Latin  page,  seeing  neither  gerund  nor 
gerundive. 

The  windows  were  open  to  the  multiplied 
chorus  of  distant  frogs  and  the  drone  of  near-by 
insects.  The  lamp  was  hot,  his  clothes  steamed 
on  his  back.  He  thought  of  the  rootbeer  and 
sarsaparilla  being  consumed  down  the  hall  and, 
going  to  the  closet,  consulted  his  own  store  of 
comforting  things. 

But  to  feast  alone  was  no  longer  a  feast  at  all. 
He  went  to  the  window  and  sniffed  the  warm  air, 
trying  to  penetrate  the  outer  darkness.  Then, 
balancing  carefully,  he  let  himself  out  and, 
dropping  on  the  yielding  earth,  went  hungrily 
up  to  the  campus. 

He  had  never  been  on  the  Circle  before  at 
night,  with%all  the  lights  about  him.  It  gave 
him  a  strange,  breathless  feeling.  He  sat  down, 
hugging  his  knees,  in  the  center  of  the  Circle, 
where  he  could  command  the  blazing  windows 
of  the  Houses  and  the  long,  lighted  ranks  of  the 
Upper,  where  the  fourth-formers  were  singing 
on  the  Esplanade.  The  chapel  at  his  back  was 
only  a  shadow;  Memorial  Hall,  a  cloud  hung 
lower  than  the  rest. 

From  his  position  of  vantage  he  could  hear 
scraps  of  conversation  through  the  open  win- 
[124] 


THE   VARMINT 

dows,  and  see  dark  figures  flitting  before  the 
mellow  lamps.  The  fellowship  in  the  Houses, 
the  good  times,  the  feeling  of  home  that  hung 
about  each  room  came  to  him  with  acute  poig- 
nancy as  he  sat  there,  vastly  alone.  In  the  whole 
school  he  had  made  not  a  friend.  He  had  done 
nothing;  no  one  knew  him.  No  one  cared.  He 
had  blundered  from  the  first.  He  saw  his  er- 
rors now — only  too  plainly — but  they  were  be- 
yond retrieving. 

There  was  only  a  week  more  and  then  it  would 
be  over.  He  would  never  come  back.  What  was 
the  use?  And  yet,  as  he  sat  there  outside  the 
life  and  lights  of  it  all,  he  regretted,  bitterly 
regretted,  that  it  must  be  so.  He  felt  the  tug  at 
his  heartstrings.  It  was  something  to  win  a 
place  in  such  a  school,  to  have  the  others  look 
up  to  you,  to  have  the  youngsters  turn  and  fol- 
low you  as  you  passed,  as  they  did  with  Charlie 
DeSoto  or  Flash  Condit  or  Turkey  Reiter  or  a 
dozen  of  others.  Instead,  he  would  drop  out 
of  the  ranks,  and  who  would  notice  it?  A  few 
who  would  make  a  good  story  out  of  that  miser- 
able game  of  baseball.  A  few  who  would  speak 
of  him  as  the  freshest  of  the  fresh,  the  fellow 
who  had  to  be  put  in  Coventry — if,  indeed,  any 
one  would  remember  Dink  Stover,  the  fellow 
who  hadn't  made  good. 

The  bell  clanged  out  the  summons  to  bed  for 
[125] 


THE   VARMINT 

the  Houses.  One  by  one  the  windows  dropped 
back  into  the  night;  only  the  Upper  remained 
ablaze. 

At  this  moment  he  heard  somewhere  in  the 
dark  near  him  the  sound  of  scampering  feet. 
The  next  moment  a  small  body  tripped  over  his 
legs  and  went  sprawling. 

"  What  in  the  name  of  Willie  Keeler ! "  said 
a  shrill  voice.  "Is  that  a  master  or  a  human 
being?  " 

"  Hello !  "  said  Stover  gruffly,  to  put  down  the 
lump  that  had  risen  in  his  throat  "Who  are 
you. " 

" Me?  Shall  we  tell  our  real  names?  "  said  the 
voice  approaching  and  at  once  bursting  out  into 
an  elfish  chant: 

Wow,  wow!   Wow,  wow,  wow! 

Oh,  me  father's  name  was  Finnegan, 
Me  mother's  name  was  Kate, 

Me  ninety-nine  relations 
To  you  I'll  now  relate. 

"  Oh,  you're  Dennis  de  Brian  de  Boru  Finne- 
gan, are  you?  "  said  Dink,  laughing  as  he  dashed 
his  cuff  across  his  eyes.  "  The  kid  that  wrote 
the  baseball  story." 

"  Sir,  you  do  me  honor,"  said  Finnegan. 
"Who  are  you?" 

"  I'm  Stover." 

[126] 


THE   VARMINT 

"The  Dink?" 

"Yes,  the  Dink." 

"The  cuss  that  translates  at  sight?" 
"You've  heard  of  it?" 

"  Cracky,  yes !  They  say  The  Roman  was 
knocked  clean  off  his  pins,  first  time  in  his  life. 

I  gay » 

"What?" 

"  Then  you're  the  fellow  down  in  the  Green, 
aren't  you?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Dink,  thinking  only  of  the  ban  of 
excommunication. 

"Why,  you're  a  regular  cross-sawed,  triple- 
hammered,  mule-kick,  beef-fed,  rarin'-tearin' 
John  L.  Sullivan,  ain't  you?"  said  the  exponent 
of  the  double  adjective  in  rapid  admiration. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Why,  you're  the  cuss  that  smeared  the  An- 
gel, swallowed  the  Canary,  and  bumped  Tough 
McCarty,  all  at  once." 

"Oh,  yes." 

"My  dear  boy,  permit  me — you're  it,  you're 
the  real  thing." 

Dink,  with  a  feeling  of  wonder,  shook  hands, 
saying: 

"Well,  they  don't  think  so  much  of  it  at  the 
Green." 

"  Anything  wrong?  " 

"Nothing  much." 

[127] 


THE   VARMINT 

Finnegan,  perceiving  the  ground  was  shaky, 
switched. 

"  I  saj,  you  want  to  get  into  the  Kennedy  next 
year;  we've  got  the  A  No.  1  crowd  there.  I'm 
there,  the  Tennessee  Shad,  the  Gutter  Pup — he's 
the  president  of  the  Sporting  Club,  you  know; 
prize-fights  and  all  that  sort  of  thing — and  King 
Lentz  and  the  Waladoo  Bird,  the  finest  guards 
Lawrenceville  ever  had.  And  say,  you'n  I  and 
the  Tennessee  Shad  could  strike  up  a  combine 
and  get  out  a  rip-snorting,  muzzle-off,  all-the- 
news,  sporting  -  expert,  battle  •  cry  -  of  -  freedom 
newspaper  that  would  put  the  Lawrence  out  of 
biz.  I  say,  you  must  get  in  the  Kennedy." 

"  I'm  not  coming  back." 

"What!" 

"  I  guess  my  par-ticular  style  of  talent  isn't 
suited  around  here." 

"  What's  wrong?  " 

"Well,  everything." 

"  I  say,  Dink,  confide  in  me ! " 

Stover,  at  that  moment,  in  his  loneliness, 
would  have  confided  in  any  one,  especially  the 
first  human  being  who  had  given  him  a  thrill 
of  conscious  pride. 

"  It's  just  this,  youngster,"  he  said,  wondering 
how  to  begin :  "  they  don't  like  me." 

"You  like  the  school,  don't  you? "  said  Finne- 
gan in  alarm. 

[128] 


THE   VARMINT 

Dink  had  never  had  the  question  put  to  him 
before.  He  was  silent  and  his  look  went  swiftly 
over  to  the  coveted  House  of  Lords.  He  drew  a 
long  breath, 

"You  bet  I  do.    I  love  it!" 

"What  then?" 

"  I  started  wrong;  didn't  understand  the  game, 
I  guess.  They've  put  me  in  Coventry." 

"  You  must  have  been  pretty  fresh." 

"What!" 

"  Oh,  don't  mind  me,"  said  Dennis  cheerfully. 
<"  I'm  fresher  than  you  ever  thought  of  being.  I 
was  the  freshest  bit  of  verdure,  as  the  poet  says, 
that  ever  greened  the  place.  I'm  the  freshest 
still.  But  I'm  different.  I'm  under  six  inches 
— that's  the  cinch  of  it." 

"Yes,  I  was  fresh,"  said  Dink,  intensely  re- 
lieved. 

"  You're  always  fresh  if  you're  any  good,  the 
first  term,"  said  Finnegan.  "Don't  mind  that. 
Next  year  you'll  be  an  old  boy,  and  then  they'll 
follow  you  around  for  sugar." 

"  I  hadn't  thought  of  that,"  said  Dink  slowly. 

"  Keep  a-thinking.  I'm  off  now.  Ta-ta !  Got 
to  slink  in  Fatty  Harris'  room  before  The 
Roman  makes  his  rounds.  Proud  to  have  met 
you.  Au  revoir ! " 

Dink  sat  a  long  while  thinking,  and  a  lighter 
mood  was  on  him.  After  all,  he  was  not  a 
[129] 


THE   VARMINT 

blank.  Some  one  had  recognized  him;  some  one 
had  taken  his  hand  in  admiration.  He  rose  and 
slowly  made  his  way  toward  the  singers  on  the 
Esplanade,  and  by  the  edge  of  the  road  camped 
under  the  shadows  of  an  apple  tree  and  leaned 
his  back  against  the  trunk. 

The  groups  of  the  Esplanade  stood  out  in  cut 
outlines  against  the  warm  windows  of  the  Read- 
ing-room. Above,  the  open  windows  were  ten- 
anted by  boys  who  pillowed  their  heads  on  one 
another  and  sent  their  treble  or  bass  notes  down 
to  swell  the  volume  below. 

Led  by  a  tenor  voice  that  soared  clear  and 
true  above  the  rest  came  the  melody  to  Stover 
huddled  under  the  apple  tree : 

At  evening,  when  ticiUght  is  falling 

And  the  birds  to  their  nests  are  all  gone, 
We'll  gather  around  in  the  gloaming, 
And  mingle  our  voices  in  song. 

Yes,  in  song. , 
'The  bright  stars  are  shining  above  us, 

Keeping  their  watch  and  ward. 
We'll  sing  the  old  songs  that  we  love,  boys. 
Out  on  the  Esplanade. 

Stover  listened,  pressing  his  knuckles  to  his 
lips,  raised    out  of  himself  by  the   accord  of 
voices  and  the  lingering  note  of  melancholy  that 
[130] 


THE   VARMINT 

was  in  the  hour,  the  note  of  the  dividing  of 
the  ways. 
Again  in  deeper  accents  a  song  arose : 

We  sing  the  campus,  green  and  fair. 

We  sing  the  'leven  and  nine 
Who  battle  for  the  old  school  there 

And  guard  the  base  and  line. 
No  cause  for  fear  when  they  appear 

And  the  school  flag  floats  above  our  head. 
When  the  game  begins  'tis  Lawrence  wins. 

While  we  cheer  the  Black  and  Red. 
When  the  game  begins  'tis  Lawrence  wins, 

While  we  cheer  the  Black  and  Red. 

The  song  ended  in  lingering  accents.  Dink 
shut  his  eyes,  clenching  his  fists,  seeing  wonder- 
ful days  when  the  school  should  gather  to  cheer 
him,  too,  and  lay  its  trust  in  him. 

Suddenly  near  him  in  the  road  came  the 
crunching  sound  of  footsteps,  and  a  voice  said  : 

"Is  that  you,  Bill?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Bill,  I  wanted  to  say  a  word  to  you." 

"Well?" 

"We've  only  got  a  few  days  more  in  the  old 
place.  I  don't  want  to  go  out  with  any  hard 
feelings  for  anybody,  do  you? " 

"No," 

[131] 


THE    VARMINT 

"Let's  call  it  off!    Shake  hands." 

Stover  listened  breathless,  hearing  little  more, 
understanding  only  that  a  feud  had  ceased,  that 
two  enemies  on  the  verge  of  the  long  parting 
had  held  each  other's  hands,  slapped  each 
other's  backs  with  crude,  embarrassed  emotion, 
for  the  sake  of  the  memories  that  lived  in  the 
shadow  of  a  name.  And  something  like  a  lump 
rose  again  in  Dink's  throat.  He  no  longer 
thought  of  his  loneliness.  He  felt  in  him  the 
longing  to  live  as  they  had  lived  through  the 
glorious  years,  to  know  the  touch  of  a  friend's 
arm  about  his  shoulders,  and  to  leave  a  name 
to  stand  with  the  names  that  were  going  out. 

He  raised  his  fists  grotesquely,  unconsciously, 
and  swore  an  oath : 

"  No,  I  won't  give  up ;  I'll  never  give  up.  I'll 
come  back.  I'll  fight  it  out !  "  he  said  almost 
aloud.  "  I'll  make  ?em  like  me.  I'll  make  'em 
proud  of  me." 


[132] 


My  father  sent  me  here  to  Lawrenceville, 
lAnd  resolved  that  for  college  Fd  prepare; 

And  so  I  settled  down 

In  this  ancient  little  town, 
About  five  miles  away  from  anywhere. 

Five  miles  away  from  anywhere,  my  boys, 
Where  old  Lawrenceville  evermore  shall  stand. 
For  has  she  not  stood  since  the  time  of  the  flood. 
About  five  miles  away  from  anywhere? 

The  school  was  returning  after  the  long  sum- 
mer vacation,  rollicking  back  over  the  dusty, 
Trenton  highway,  cheering  and  singing  as  they 
came. 

Jimmy,  on  the  stage,  was  swallowed  up  in  the 
mass  of  exultant  boyhood  that  clustered  on  the 
top  like  bees  on  a  comb  of  honey,  and  clung  to 
step  and  strap.  Inside,  those  who  had  failed  of 
place  stuck  long  legs  out  of  the  windows,  and 
from  either  side  beat  the  time  of  the  choruses. 

"  Next  verse ! "  shouted  Doc  Macnooder  as 
leader  of  the  orchestra. 

[133] 


THE    VARMINT 

The  First  Form  then  I  gayly  entered, 
And  did  so  well,  1  do  declare, 

When  they  looked  my  record  o'er 

'All  the  masters  cried  "Encore!" 
About  five  miles  away  from  anywhere. 

"  Chorus !  "  cried  Macnooder.  "  Here,  you 
legs,  keep  together!  You're  spoiling  the  effect," 

Dink  Stover  sat  quietly  on  the  second  seat, 
joining  in  the  singing,  but  without  the  rollick- 
ing abandon  of  the  others.  He  had  shot  up 
amazingly  during  the  vacation  and  taken  on 
some  weight,  but  the  change  was  most  marked 
in  his  face.  The  roundness  was  gone  and  with 
it  the  cherubic  smile.  The  oval  had  lengthened, 
the  mouth  was  straighter,  more  determined,  and 
in  the  quiet  set  of  eyes  was  something  of  the 
mental  suffering  of  the  last  months.  He  had 
returned,  wondering  a  little  what  would  be  his 
greeting.  The  first  person  he  had  met  was  the 
Coffee-colored  Angel,  who  shook  hands  with 
him,  pounded  him  on  the  back  and  called  him 
"Good  old  Dink."  He  understood — the  ban 
was  lifted.  But  the  lesson  had  been  a  rude 
one;  he  did  not  intend  to  presume.  So  he  sat, 
an  observer  rather  than  a  participant,  not  yet 
free  of  that  timidity  which,  once  Imposed,  is  so 
difficult  to  shake  off. 

The  stage,  which  was  necessarily  making  slow 
[134] 


THE    VARMINT 

progress,  halted  at  the  first  hill,  with  a  sudden 
rebellion  on  the  part  of  the  long  suffering 
horses. 

"All  out!"  shouted  Macnooder. 

In  a  jiffy  every  boy  was  on  the  ground. 

"All  push!" 

The  stage,  propelled  by  dozens  of  vigorous 
hands,  went  up  the  hill  on  a  run. 

"  Same  places !  " 

"All  ready?" 

"  Let  her  go !  " 

Mamie  Reilly,  being  discovered  on  the  roof 
and  selfishly  claimed  below,  was  thrust  kicking 
and  wriggling  over  the  side  and  into  the  ready 
hands  at  the  window. 

"All  ready,  orchestra?"  said  MacNooder. 

"Aye,  aye,  sir." 

"All  legs  in  the  air!" 

"Aye,  me  Lord!" 

"One,  two,  three!" 

rAnd  then  the  Second  Form  received  me, 
Where  1  displayed  such  genius  rare, .. 

That  they  begged  me  to  refrain, 

It  was  going  to  my  brain. 
'About  five  miles  away  from  anywhere! 

Meanwhile,  at  the  approach  of  the  astounding 
coach,  which  looked  like  a  drunken  centipede, 
[135] 


THE    VARMINT 

the  farmers  stopped  their  plows  or  came  to  the 
thresholds,  shading  their  eyes;  while  the  cattle 
in  the  fields  put  up  their  tails  and  bolted,  fling- 
ing out  their  heels,  amid  triumphant  cheers  from 
the  students. 

All  the  while,  the  bulk  of  the  school  in  two 
seaters,  and  three  seaters,  the  Fifth  Formers, 
the  new  Lords  of  Creation,  in  buggies  specially 
retained,  went  swirling  by  exchanging  joyful 
greetings. 

"  Oh  you,  Doc  MacNooder ! " 

"  Why,  Gutter  Pup !     You  old  son-of-a-gun !  " 

"  Look  at  the  Coffee-Colored  Angel !  " 

"Where's  Lovely  Mead?" 

"Coming  behind." 

"Hello,  Skinny." 

"Why,  you  Fat  Boy!" 

"  See  you  later." 

"Meet  me  at  the  Jigger  Shop." 

"There's  Stuffy!" 

"  Hello,  Stuffy !    Look  this  way ! " 

"  Look  at  the  Davis  House  bunch ! ;/* 

"Whose  legs  are  those?" 

'Hallegenoo,  nack,  nack! 
lHallegenoo,  nack,  nack! 
Hooray!    Hooray! 
Lawrenceville ! 

"Next     verse,"     shouted     Doc     Macnooder. 
[136] 


THE   VARMINT 

"Legs  at  attention.      More  action  there!    La- 
da-da-dee  !    One,  two,  three !  " 

In  course  of  time,  I  reached  the  Third  Form, 
But  was  caught  in  examination's  snare. 

Reassignment  played  its  party 

And  it  almost  broke  my  heart, 
'About  five  miles  away  from  anywhere. 

"What  house  are  you  in?"  said  the  Coffee- 
Colored  Angel  to  Stover,  between  breaths. 

"Kennedy." 

"The  Roman,  eh?" 

"Yes,  he  reached  out  and  nabbed  me,"  said 
Stover,  who  was  persuaded  that  his  new  assign- 
ment was  a  special  mark  of  malignant  interest. 

"Who  are  you  rooming  with?" 

"  The  Tennessee  Shad." 

"Well,  you'll  be  a  warm  bunch!" 

A  shout  burst  out  from  the  back  of  the  coach. 

"  A  race,  a  race !  " 

"Here  come  the  Tennessee  Shad  and  Brian 
de  Boru." 

"  Turn  out,  rJimmy ! " 

"  Give  'em  room ! " 

"Go  it,  Dennis!" 

"Go  it,  Shad!" 

Two  runabouts  came  up  at  a  gallop,  neck  and 
neck,  four  boys  in  each,  the  Tennessee  Shad 
[137] 


THE    VARMINT 

standing  at  the  reins  in  one,  Dennis  de  Brian  de 
Bom  Finnegan  in  the  other,  each  firmly 
clutched  about  the  waist  by  the  boy  on  whose 
knees  he  jolted  and  jostled. 

"  Push  on  the  reins !  " 

"Home  run,  Dennis!" 

"Swim  out,  you  Shad!" 

;<Pass  him,  Dennis!     Pass  him!" 

"Shad  wins!" 

"Look  at  his  form,  will  you!" 

"  Oh,  you  jockey ! " 

"Shad  wins!" 

"Hurrah!" 

"  Hurray ! " 

"  Hurroo ! " 

But  at  this  moment,  when  it  seemed  as  though 
the  race  was  to  go  to  the  Tennessee  Shad's  nag, 
which  had  that  superiority  which  one  sacrificial 
horse  in  a  Spanish  bullfight  ring  has  over 
another,  Dennis  de  Brian  de  Boru  suddenly  pro- 
duced the  remnants  of  a  bag  of  cream  puffs  and, 
by  means  of  three  well-directed,  squashing  shots 
on  the  rear  quarters  of  his  coal-black  steed, 
plunged  ahead  and  won  the  road,  amid  terrific 
cheering. 

"  Dennis  forever ! " 

"  Oh,  you,  Brian  de  Boru ! " 

"Get  an  Eclair,  Shad!" 

"Get  an  omelet!" 

"Get  a  tomato!" 

[138] 


THE   VARMINT 

"  Get  out  and  push ! " 

The  racers  disappeared  in  mingled  clouds  of 
dust. 

Macnooder,  whirling  around  like  a  dervish  on 
the  stage  top,  conducted  the  next  verse.  Sud- 
denly another  shout  went  up. 

"  Here  comes  Charlie  DeSoto  and  Flash 
Condit." 

"  Three  cheers  for  the  football  team ! " 

"  How  are  you,  Charlie?  " 

"Flash,  old  boy!" 

"  What  do  you  weigh? " 

"Pretty  fit?" 

"  Too  bad  you  can't  run,  Flash ! " 

"  What'll  we  do  to  Andover?  " 

DeSoto  and  Condit  passed,  acknowledging  the 
salutations  with  joyful  yelps. 

"Give  ?em  the  Fifty-six  to  Nothing,  boys," 
shouted  Macnooder.  "  All  you  tenor  legs  get 
into  this.  Oom-pah!  Oom-pah!  Corn-pah! 
One,  two,  three!" 

There  is  a  game  called  football, 

'And  that's  the  game  for  me. 
rAnd  Laurrenceville  can  play  it, 

As  you  will  shortly  see. 
She  goes  to  all  the  schools  about, 

And  with  them  wipes  the  ground. 
For  it's  fifty-six  to  nothing,  boys, 

When  Lawrenceville' s  around. 
[139] 


THE    VARMINT 

She  has  a  gallant  rush-line 

That  wears  the  Red  and  Black. 
Each  man  can  carry  the  ball  through 

With  six  men  on  his  back. 
They  carry  it  through  the  middle 

And  then  they  touch  it  down. 
For  it's  fifty-six  to  nothing,  boys, 

When  Lawrenceville's  around. 

Little  by  little  Stover  was  drawn  into  the 
spirit  of  the  song.  He  forgot  his  aloofness,  he 
felt  one  of  them,  thrilling  with  the  spirit  of  the 
coming  football  season. 

"  Gee,  it's  great  to  be  back,"  he  found  himself 
saying  to  Butcher  Stevens  next  to  him. 

"You  bet  it  is!" 

"Charlie  DeSoto  looks  fit,  doesn't  he?" 

"He's  eight  pounds  heavier,  Doc  tells  me." 

"  By  George,  that's  fine ! " 

They  stopped  to  sing  the  third  verse. 

"It  won't  be  any  fifty-six  to  nothing  when 
Andover  comes  around,"  said  Butcher  gruffly. 

"We've  got  to  hustle?  "  asked  Stover  respect- 
fully of  the  'Varsity  left  tackle. 

"  We  certainly  have !  " 

"What's  the  prospects?" 

"  Behind  the  line,  corking.  It's  the  line's  the 
trouble — no  weight." 

"There  may  be  some  new  material." 
[140] 


THE    VARMINT 

"  That's  so."  Stevens  looked  him  over  with 
an  appraising  eye.  "Played  the  game?" 

"  No,  but  I'm  going  to." 

"What  do  you  strip  at?" 

"Why,  about  140—138." 

"  Light." 

"  I  thought  I  might  try  for  the  second  eleven." 

"Perhaps.  Better  learn  the  game,  though, 
with  your  House  team." 

Hearing  them  talk  football  the  crowd  eagerly 
began  to  ask  questions. 

"Who's  out  for  center?" 

"Will  they  move  Tough  McCarty  out  to  end? " 

"Naw,  he's  too  heavy." 

"  I'd  play  him  at  center,  and  stick  the  Wala- 
doo  Bird  in  at  tackle." 

"You  would,  would  you?  Shows  what  you 
know  about  it." 

"Butcher,  you'll  be  in  at  tackle,  won't  you?  " 

"  Hope  so,"  said  Stevens  laconically. 

Stover,  who  had  entered  the  observant  stage 
of  his  development,  noted  the  laconic,  quiet  an- 
swer and  stored  it  away  for  classification  and 
meditation  among  the  many  other  details  that 
his  new  attitude  of  watchful  analysis  was  heap- 
ing up. 

"There's  the  water  tower!  I  see  the  water 
tower ! "  cried  a  voice. 

"I  seethe  Cleve!" 

[141] 


THE   VARMINT 

"All  up!" 

"Long  cheer  for  the  school!" 

"All  together!" 

"Rip  her  out!" 

They  gave  a  cheer  and  then  two  more. 

"Now,  fellows,"  said  Doc  Macnooder  shrilly, 
as  master  of  ceremonies,  "  we  want  to  pull  this 
off  in  fine  shape.  We're  going  to  drive,  around 
the  Circle.  And  I  want  this  orchestra  to  keep 
together.  Whose  legs  are  those  with  the  can- 
non-cracker socks?" 

"  Beekstein's,"  cried  several  voices  from  in- 
side. 

"  Well,  he's  rotten.  He  gums  the  whole  show. 
Now,  get  together,  fellows,  will  you?" 

"  We  will ! " 

As  they  turned  to  enter  the  campus  the  voice 
of  the  master  spoke,  clanging  its  inexorable  note 
from  the  old  Gym.  Instantly  a  shout  broke 
out: 

"Hang  the  old  thing!" 

"Drown  it!" 

"  Down  with  the  Gym  bell !  " 

"Murder!" 

"Oh,  Melancholy!" 

"Silence!"  cried  the  bandmaster.  "Give  'em 
The  Gym  Bell — all  ready  below!  La-da-da- 
dee!" 

"Too  high!" 

[142] 


THE   VARMINT 

"  La-da-da-cfom.  Slow  and  melancholy.  One, 
two,  three ! " 

When  the  shades  of  night  are  falling 

Round  our  campus,  green  and  fair, 
rAll  the  drowsy  sons  of  Lawrence 

To  their  couches  then  repair. 
Soon  the  slumber  god  has  bound  them 

With  his  spell  of  magic  power, 
And  he  holds  them  thus  enchanted 

Till  the  early  morning  hour. 

"Up  legs  and  at  'em  now,  Rip  her  out — 
chorus!" 

Till  awakened 
By  the  clanging 
And  the  banging 
And  the  whanging 
From  the  cupola  overhanging, 
Of  that  ancient  Gym  bell! 

Cheered  by  the  new  fifth-formers,  who  came 
laughing  to  the  windows  to  hail  them,  the  stage 
went  gloriously  around  the  Circle  and  came  to 
a  stop. 

"Here  we  are  back  at  the  same  old  grind," 
said  Butcher  Stevens. 

"Frightful,  isn't  it?"  said  Stover;  and  the 
rest  made  answer: 

[143] 


THE   VARMINT 

"Back  at  the  grindstone!" 

"Hard  luck!" 

"  We're  all  slaves ! " 

"Nothing  to  eat!" 

"Nothing  to  do!" 

"  Stuck  in  a  mudhole !  " 


[144] 


XI 

At  the  Kennedy  steps  The  Roman  was  waiting 
for  him.  Stover  shook  hands  or,  rather,  al- 
lowed The  Roman  to  pump  him,  as  was  the 
custom. 

"Why,  dear  me — dear  me — this  is  actually 
Stover !  "  said  The  Roman.  "  Well,  well !  How 
you  have  grown — shouldn't  have  known  you. 
Had  a  pleasant  vacation?  Yes?  Glad  to  have 
you  in  the  Kennedy.  It's  a  good  House — good 
boys — manly,  self-reliant,  purposeful.  You'll 
like  'em." 

The  Roman  released  Stover's  hand,  which  had 
grown  limp  in  the  process,  and  said  with  a 
twinkle  to  his  quick  little  eyes: 

"  Don't  put  too  much  ginger  into  them, 
Stover." 

This  remark  confirmed  Stover's  darkest  sus- 
picions. 

"  I'll  scatter  a  little  ginger  around  all  right," 
he  said  under  his  breath,  as  he  climbed  the  stairs 
to  his  room.  "  He  thinks  he  has  the  laugh  on 
me,  does  he?  Well,  we'll  see  who  laughs  last!" 

On  the  third  floor  the  Tennessee  Shad  and 
Dennis  de  Brian  de  Boru  Finnegan,  from  their 
respective  trunks,  were  volubly  debating  the 
[145] 


THE   VARMIXT 

merits  of  Finnegan's  victory — the  Tennessee 
Shad  claiming  that  the  external  application  of 
cream  puffs  was  equivalent  to  doping  and  in- 
validated the  result. 

"  Hello ! "  said  Dink. 

"Why,  it's  my  honorable  roommate,"  said  the 
Tennessee  Shad,  emerging  with  a  load  of  flan- 
nels. 

"  It's  the  Dink  himself,"  said  Dennis,  gambol- 
ing up.  "Wecome  to  our  city!" 

"I  hear  I'm  rooming  with  you,"  said  Stover, 
shaking  hands  with  the  Shad. 

"  You  certainly  are,  my  bounding  boy." 

"Where's  the  room?" 

"Straight  ahead,  turret  room,  finest  on  the 
campus,  swept  by  ocean  breezes  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing." 

"  Why,  Dink,"  said  Dennis  de  Brian  de  Boru 
in  affectionate  octaves,  "you  old,  slab-sided, 
knock-kneed,  baby-cheeked,  wall-eyed,  battling 
Dink.  You've  grown  ee-normously." 

"How's  your  muscle?"  said  the  Tennessee 
Shad,  with  an  ulterior  motive. 

"Feel  it,"  said  Stover,  who  had  consecrated 
the  summer  to  the  same. 

"Hard  as  a  goat,"  said  Dennis  after  an  ad- 
miring whistle.  "  All  nice  little  cast-iron,  jerky 
bunches,  ready  and  willing.  Been  in  training, 
Dink?" 

[146] 


THE    VARMINT 

"  Yes,  just  so." 

"  Feels  sort  of  soft  to  me,"  said  the  Tennessee 
Shad  pensively. 

"Oh,  it  does?'r 

"Question:  what  can  you  do  with  it?  Lift 
a  trunk  as  heavy  as  this?" 

"  Huh !  "  said  Stover,  bending  down.  "Where 
do  you  want  it?  " 

"  Gee !  I  do  believe  he  can  carry  it  almost  to 
the  room,"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad,  whose 
theory  of  life  was  to  admire  others  do  his  work 
for  him. 

Stover  bore  it  proudly  on  his  shoulders  and 
set  it  down.  Dennis,  planting  himself  arms 
akimbo,  surveyed  him  with  melancholy  disap- 
proval. 

"  Too  bad,  Dink !  I  had  expected  better  things 
from  you.  You're  still  green,  Dink.  Been  too 
much  with  the  cows  and  chickens.  Don't  do 
it;  don't  doit!" 

Stover  glanced  at  the  Tennessee  Shad, 
who,  satisfied,  had  curled  himself  up  on  the 
bed,  to  rest  himself  after  the  exertion  of  walk- 
ing. 

"  I  guess  I  am  still  a  sucker,"  he  said,  scratch- 
ing his  head  with  a  foolish  grin,  "  I'll  not  be  so 
easy  next  time." 

"Never  mind,  Dink,"  said  Dennis  comfort- 
ingly. "  Your  education's  been  neglected,  but 
[147] 


THE   VARMINT 

Fm  here.    Remember  that,  Dennis  is  here,  ready 
and  willing." 

Presently  the  Gutter  Pup  and  Lovely  Mead 
came  tumbling  in,  and  then  the  lumbering  pro- 
portions of  P.  Lentz,  King  of  the  Kennedy, 
crowded  through  the  doorway,  and  the  conver- 
sation continued  in  rapid  crossfire. 

"Who's  seen  the  Waladoo  Bird?" 

"Jock  Hasbrouck's  dropped  into  the  third 
form." 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  electric  lights 
they've  given  us?  " 

"  They've  stuck  an  arc  light  in  the  Circle,  too." 

"We'll  fix  that." 

"  How's  the  new  material,  King?  " 

"Rotten!" 

"  Think  we've  a  chance  for  the  House  cham- 
pionship?" 

"A  fine  chance — to  finish  last." 

"Say,  who  do  you  think  they've  stuck  us 
with?" 

"Who?" 

"  Beekstein." 

"  Suffering  Moses ! " 

"  Never  mind.    We've  got  the  Dink." 

"What's  he  do?" 

"He's  the  champion  truckman — carry  your 
trunk  for  you  anywhere  you  want." 

Dink,  thus  brought  unwillingly  into  the  con- 
versation, blushed  a  warm  red. 
[148] 


THE   VARMINT 

"  Truckman?  "  said  P.  Lentz,  mystified. 

"  Champion,"  said  Finnegan.  "  The  myster- 
ious champion  truckman  of  Broad  Street  Sta- 
tion, Philadelphia.  Stand  up,  Dink,  my  man, 
and  twitch  your  muscles." 

Stover  squirmed  uneasily  on  his  chair.  There 
was  no  malice  in  the  teasing,  and  yet  he  was  at 
a  loss  how  to  turn  it. 

The  Gutter  Pup,  as  president  of  the  Sporting 
Club  and  chief  authority  on  the  life  and  works 
of  the  late  Marquis  of  Queensberry,  examined 
the  embarrassed  Stover,  running  professional 
fingers  over  his  legs  and  arms. 

"You're  the  fellow  who  tried  to  fight  the 
whole  Green  House,  aren't  you?"  he  said,  im- 
mensely interested. 

"Why,  yes." 

"  Good  nerve,"  said  the  Gutter  Pup.  "  You've 
got  something  the  style  of  Beans  Middleton, 
who  stood  up  to  me  for  ten  rounds  in  the  days 
of  the  old  Seventy-second  Street  gang.  I'll 
train  you  up  some  time.  You'd  do  well  with  the 
crouching  style — good  reach,  quick  on  the  trig- 
ger and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  Like  fighting?" 

"Why,  I — I  don't  know,"  said  Stover  help- 
lessly, unable  to  make  out  whether  the  Gutter 
Pup  spoke  in  jest. 

"Modest  and  brave!"  said  the  irrepressible 
Finnegan. 

The  conversation  drifted  away;  Stover,  with 
[149] 


THE    VARMINT 

a  sigh  of  relief,  obliterated  himself  in  a  corner, 
feeling  immense  distances  between  himself  and 
the  laughing  group  that  continued  to  exchange 
rapid  banter. 

"Dennis,  they  tell  me  you're  fresher  than 
ever." 

"  Sir,  you  compliment  me." 

"  Say,  Boru,  have  they  put  you  on  the  bottle 
yet?" 

"Not  yet,  Lovely.  Waiting  for  you  to  drop 
it." 

It  was  not  particularly  brilliant,  but  it  was 
good-natured,  and  there  was  a  certain  trick  to 
it  that  he  had  lost  in  the  long  weeks  of  Cov- 
entry. 

Presently  the  group  departed  to  take  the  keen 
edge  off  the  approaching  luncheon  pangs  by  a 
trip  to  the  Jigger  Shop,  the  center  of  social  life. 

"Coming,  Dink?"  said  the  Gutter  Pup. 

"  I — I'll  be  over  a  little  later,"  said  Stover, 
who  did  and  did  not  want  to  go. 

Left  alone,  half  angry  at  his  own  enforced 
aloofness,  and  yet  desiring  solitude,  Stover 
stood  among  the  litter  of  boxes  and  gaping 
trunks  and  surveyed  the  four  bare  walls  that 
spelled  for  him  the  word  home. 

"  It's  a  bully  room — bully,"  he  said  to  him- 
self with  a  tender  feeling  of  possession.  "  The 
Shad's  a  bully  fellow — bully!  Dennis  is  a 
[150] 


THE   VARMINT 

corker !  I'm  going  to  make  good ;  see  if  I  don't ! 
But  I'm  going  slow.  They've  got  to  come  to  me. 
I  won't  break  in  until  they  want  me.  Gee! 
What  a  peach  of  a  room ! " 

He  went  to  the  window  and  looked  out  at  the 
whole  panorama  of  the  school  that  ran  beneath 
him,  from  the  long,  rakish  lines  of  the  Upper, 
by  Memorial  Hall,  to  the  chapel  and  the  circle 
of  Houses  that  ended  at  the  rear  with  the  Dick^ 
inson.  Below,  boys  were  streaking  across  the 
green  depths  like  water-bugs  over  limpid  sur- 
faces, or  hallooing  joyfully  from  window  to  ter- 
race, greeting  one  another  with  bearlike  hugs, 
tumbling  about  in  frolicking  heaps.  He  was 
on  the  mountain,  they  on  the  plain.  His  was  the 
imaginative  perspective  and  the  troubled  vision 
of  one  who  finds  a  strange  city  at  his  feet. 

"  It's  all  there,"  he  said  lamely,  confused  by 
his  own  impressions.  "All  of  it." 

"Homesick?"  said  a  thin  voice  behind  him. 

He  turned  to  find  Finnegan  eyeing  him  uncer- 
tainly. 

"Why,  you  wild  Irishman,"  Dink  said,  sur- 
prised. "Thought  you'd  gone  with  the  crowd. 
Hello,  what's  up  now?  " 

Finnegan,  with  an  air  of  great  mystery,  locked 
the  door,  extracted  the  key  and,  returning,  en- 
throned himself  on  a  chair  which  he  had  pre- 
viously planted  defiantly  on  a  trunk. 


THE    VARMINT 

"  That's  so  you  can't  throw  me  out." 

"Well?" 

"I'm  going  to  be  fresh  as  paint." 

"  You  are? "  said  Stover,  mystified  and 
amused. 

"Fact,"  said  Finnegan,  who,  having  crossed 
his  legs,  plunged  his  hands  into  his  pockets  and 
cocked  one  eye,  said  impressively :  "  Dink,  you're 
wrong." 

"I  am— am  I?" 

"  But  never  mind ;  I'm  here.  Dennis  de  Brian 
de  Boru  Finnegan — ready  and  willing." 

"  Irishman,  I  do  believe  you're  embarrassed," 
said  Stover,  surprised. 

"  I'm  not,"  said  Finnegan  indignantly.  "Only 
— only,  I  want  to  be  impressive.  Dink,  you're 
getting  in  wrong  again." 

"  What  in  thunder " 

"You  are,  Dink,  you  are.  But  don't  worry; 
I'm  here.  In  the  first  place,  you  can't  forget 
what  every  one  else  has  forgotten." 

"Forget  what?" 

"The  late  unpleasantness,"  said  Finnegan, 
with  an  expelling  wave  of  his  hand.  "That's 
over,  spiked,  dished,  set  back,  covered  up,  cob- 
webbed,  no  flowers  and  no  tombstone." 

"I  know." 

"No,  you  don't — that's  just  it.  You've  got 
it  on  your  mind — brooding  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing." 

[152] 


THE   VARMINT 

Stover  sat  down  and  stared  at  the  Lilliputian 
philosopher. 

"  Well,  I  like  your  nerve ! " 

"Don't— don't  start  in  like  that,"  said  Fin- 
negan,  rolling  up  his  sleeves  over  his  funny,  thin 
forearms,  "  cause  I  shall  have  to  thrash  you." 

"  Well,  go  on,"  said  Stover  suddenly. 

"  You're  not  in  Coventry — you  never  have 
been.  You're  one  of  us,"  said  Dennis  glibly. 
"BUT — I  repeat  BUT — you  can't  be  one  of  us 
if  you  don't  believe  in  your  own  noddle  that  you 
are  one  of  us!  Get  that?  That's  deep — no 
charge,  always  glad  to  oblige  a  customer." 

"  Keep  on,"  said  Stover,  leaning  back. 

"With  your  kind  permission,  directly.  It's 
all  in  this — you  haven't  got  the  trick." 

"The  trick?" 

"The  trick  of  conversation.  That's  not  just 
it.  The  trick  of  answering  back.  Aha,  that's 
better!  Scratch  out  first  sentiment.  Change 
signals ! " 

"There's  something  in  that,"  said  Stover, 
genuinely  amazed. 

"  You  blush." 

"What?" 

"  The  word  was  blush,"  said  Finnegan  firmly. 
"I  saw  you — Finnegan  saw  you  and  grieved. 
And  why?  Because  you  didn't  have  the  trick 
of  answering  back." 

"Dennis  de  Brian  de  Boru  Finnegan,"  said 
[153] 


THE   VARMINT 

Stover  slowly,  "  I  believe  you  are  a  whole- 
hearted little  cuss.  Also,  you're  not  so  far  off, 
either.  Now,  since  this  is  a  serious  conversa- 
tion, this  is  where  I  stand:  I  went  through 
Hades  last  spring — I  deserved  it  and  it's  done 
me  good.  I've  come  back  to  make  good.  Savez? 
And  that's  a  serious  thing,  too.  Now  if  you 
have  one  particular  theory  about  your  art  of 
conversation  to  elucidate — eluce." 

"  One  theory !  "  said  Finnegan,  chirping  along 
as  he  perceived  the  danger-point  passed.  "  I'm 
a  theorist,  and  a  real  theorist  doesn't  have  one 
theory;  he  has  dozens.  Let  me  see;  let  me  think, 
reflect,  cogitate,  tickle  the  thinker.  Best  way  is 
to  start  at  the  A,  B,  C — first  principles,  all  that 
sort  of  thing.  Supposin',  supposin'  you  come 
into  the  room  with  that  hat  on — it's  a  bum  hat, 
by  the  way — and  some  one  pipes  up ;  '  Get  that 
at  the  fire  sale?'  What  are  you  going  to  an- 
swer?" 

"  Why,  I  suppose  I'd  grin,"  said  Stover  slowly, 
"and  say:  'How  did  you  guess  it?': 

"  Wrong,"  said  Finnegan.  "  You  let  him  take 
the  laugh." 

"Well,  what?" 

"  Something  in  this  style :  *  Oh,  no,  I  traded  it 
for  luck  with  a  squint-eyed,  humpbacked  biter- 
off  of  puppy-dog  tails  that  got  it  out  of  Rocke- 
feller's ashcan.'  See? " 

[154] 


THE   VARMINT 

"  No,  Dennis,  no,"  said  Stover,  bewildered. 
"  I  see,  but  there  are  some  things  beyond  me. 
Every  one  isn't  a  young  Shakspere." 

"  I  know,"  said  Finnegan,  accepting  the  trib- 
ute without  hesitation.  "But  there's  the  prin- 
ciple. You  go  him  one  better.  You  make  him 
look  like  a  chump.  You  show  him  what  you 
could  have  said  in  his  place.  That  shuts  him 
up,  makes  him  feel  foolish,  spikes  the  gun,  corks 
the  bottle." 

"By  Jove!" 

"  It's  what  I  call  the  Superiority  of  the  Su- 
perlative over  the  Comparative." 

"  It  sounds  simple,"  said  Stover  pensively. 

"When  you  know  the  trick." 

"  You  know,  Dennis,"  said  Stover,  smiling 
reminiscently,  "I  used  to  have  the  gift  of  gab 
once,  almost  up  to  you." 

"  Then  let's  take  a  few  crouching  starts,"  said 
Dennis,  delighted. 

"Go  ahead." 

"  Room  full  of  fellows.  You  enter." 

"  I  enter." 

"I  sj>eak:  'Dink,  I  bet  Bill  here  a  quarter 
that  you  used  a  toothbrush.' " 

"You  lose,"  said  Stover;  "I  use  a  whisk- 
broom." 

"  Good !  "  said  Dennis  professionally,  "  but  a 
little  quicker,  on  the  jump,  get  on  the  spring- 
[155] 


THE   VARMINT 

board.     Try  again.     'Why,  Dink,  how  do  you 
get  such  pink  cheeks? ' 

"  That's  a  hard  one,"  said  Dink. 

"Peanuts!" 

"  Let  me  think." 

"  Bad,  very  bad." 

"Well,  what  would  you  say?" 

"  Can't  help  it,  Bill ;  the  girls  won't  let  me 
alone ! " 

"  Try  me  again,"  said  Stover,  laughing. 

"  Say,  Dink,  did  your  mamma  kiss  you  good- 
by?"  * 

"  Sure,  Mike,"  said  Stover  instantly ;  "  combed 
my  hair,  dusted  my  hands,  and  told  me  not  to 
talk  to  fresh  little  kids  like  you." 

"Why,  Dick,  come  to  my  arms,"  said  Dennis, 
delighted.  "A  Number  1.  Mark  100  for  the 
term.  That's  the  trick." 

"Think  Til  do?" 

"  Sure  pop.  Of  course,  there  are  times  when 
the  digestion's  jumping  fences  and  you  get  sort 
of  in  the  thunder  glums.  Then  just  answer, 
'Is  that  the  best  you  can  do  to-day?'  or  'Why, 
you're  a  real  funny  man,  aren't  you?'  sarcastic 
and  sassy." 

"I  see." 

"  But  better  be  original." 

"  Of  course." 

"Oh,  it's  all  a  knack." 
[156] 


THE    VAKMINT 

"And  to  tliink  that's  all  there  is  to  it! "  said 
Stover,  profoundly  moved. 

"  When  you  know,"  said  Dennis  in  correction. 

"  Dennis,  I  have  a  thought,"  said  Stover  sud- 
denly. "Let's  get  out  and  try  the  system." 

"Presto!" 

"  The  Jigger  Shop?  " 

"Why  tarry?" 

On  the  way  over  Dink  stopped  short  with  an 
exclamation. 

"What  now?"  said  Finnegan. 

"  Tough  McCarty  and  a  female,"  said  Stover 
in  great  indignation. 

They  stood  aside,  awkwardly  snatching  off 
their  caps  as  McCarty  and  his  companion  passed 
them  on  the  walk.  Stover  saw  a  bit  of  blue 
felt  with  the  white  splash  of  a  wing  across, 
a  fluffy  shirtwaist,  and  a  skirt  that  was  a  skirt, 
and  nothing  else.  His  glance  went  to  McCarty, 
meeting  it  with  the  old,  measuring  antagonism. 
They  passed. 

"  Damn  him !  "  said  Stover. 

"Why,  Dink,  how  shocking!" 

"  He's  grown ! " 

In  the  joy  of  his  own  increased  stature  he 
had  never  dreamed  that  like  processes  of  Nature 
produce  like  results. 

" Ten    pounds    heavier,"    said   Dennis.    "He 
ought  to  make  a  peach  of  a  tackle  this  year !  " 
[157] 


THE    VARMINT 

"Bringing  girls  around!"  said  Stover  scorn- 
fully, to  vent  his  rage. 

"  More  to  be  pitied  than  blamed,"  sang  Dennis 
on  a  popular  air.  "  It's  his  sister.  Luscious 
eyes — quite  the  figure,  too." 

"Figure — huh!"  said  Stover,  who  hadn't 
seen. 

At  the  Jigger  Shop  the  Gutter  Pup,  looking 
up  from  a  meringue  entirely  surrounded  by 
peach  jiggers,  hailed  them: 

"Hello,  Rinky  Dink!  Changed  your  mind, 
eh?  Thought  you  were  homesick." 

"  Sure  I  was,  but  Dennis  came  in  with  a 
bucket  and  caught  the  tears,"  said  Stover 
gravely.  "I'll  call  you  in  next  time.  Al,  how 
be  you?  Here's  what  I  owe  you.  Set  'em  up." 

"Tres  bien!"  said  Dennis  de  Brian  de  Boru 
Finnegan. 

That  night,  as  they  started  on  the  problem 
of  interior  decorations,  Stover  threw  himself  on 
the  bed,  rolling  with  laughter. 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  you've  decided  to  be  cheerful ; 
but  what  in  blazes  are  you  hee-hawing  at?" 
said  the  Tennessee  Shad,  mystified. 

"I'm  laughing,"  said  Stover,  loud  enough  for 
Dennis  down  the  hall  to  hear,  "at  the  Superi- 
ority of  the  Superlative  over  the  Comparative." 

[158] 


XII 

"  Why,  look  at  the  Dink ! "  said  Lovely  Mead 
the  next  afternoon,  as  Stover  emerged  in  foot- 
ball togs  which  he  had  industriously  smeared 
with  mud  to  conceal  their  novelty. 

"  He  must  be  going  out  for  the  'Varsity !  "  said 
Fatty  Harris  sarcastically. 

"  By  request,"  said  the  Gutter  Pup. 

"Why,  who  told  you?"  said  Stover. 

"You  trying  for  the  'Varsity?"  said  Lovely 
Mead  incredulously.  "Why,  where  did  you 
play  football?" 

"  Dear  me,  Lovely,"  said  Stover,  lacing  his 
jacket,  "  thought  you  read  the  newspapers." 

"  Huh !    What  position  are  you  trying  for?  " 

"First  substitute  scorer,"  said  Stover,  accord- 
ing to  Finnegan's  theory.  "Any  more  ques- 
tions? " 

Lovely  Mead,  surprised,  looked  at  Stover  m 
perplexity  and  remained  silent. 

Dink,  laughing  to  himself  at  the  ease  of  the 
trick,  started  across  the  Circle  for  the  'Varsity 
football  field,  whither  already  the  candidates 
were  converging  to  the  first  call  of  the  season. 

He  had  started  joyfully  forth  from  the  skep- 
tics on  the  steps,  but  once  past  the  chapel  and  in 
[159] 


THE    VARMINT 

sight  of  the  field  his  gait  abruptly  changed.  He 
went  quietly,  thoughtfully,  a  little  alarmed  at 
his  own  daring,  glancing  at  the  padded  figures 
thafc  overtopped  him. 

The  veterans  with  the  red  L  on  their  black 
sweaters  were  apart,  tossing  the  ball  back  and 
forth  and  taking  playful  tackles  at  one  another,, 
Stover,  hiding  himself  modestly  in  the  common 
herd,  watched  with  entranced  eyes  the  lithe, 
sinuous  forms  of  Flash  Condit  and  Charlie  De- 
Soto — greater  to  him  than  the  faint  heroes  of 
mythology — as  they  tumbled  the  Waladoo  Bird 
gleefully  on  the  ground.  There  was  Butcher 
Stevens  of  the  grim  eye  and  the  laconic  word, 
a  man  to  follow  and  emulate;  and  the  broad 
span  of  Turkey  Reiter's  shoulders,  a  mark  to 
grow  to.  Meanwhile,  Garry  Cockrell,  the  cap- 
tain, and  Mr.  Ware,  the  new  coach  from  the 
Princeton  championship  eleven,  were  drawing 
nearer  on  their  tour  of  inspection  and  classifi- 
cation. Dink  knew  his  captain  only  from  re- 
spectful distances — the  sandy  hair,  the  gaunt 
cheek  bones  and  the  deliberate  eye,  whom  gover- 
nors of  states  alone  might  approach  with  equal- 
ity, and  no  one  elsec  Under  the  dual  inspection 
the  squad  was  quickly  sorted,  some  sent  back 
to  their  House  teams  till  another  year  brought 
more  weight  and  experience,  and  others  tenta- 
tively retained  on  the  scrubs. 
[160] 


THE   VARMINT 

"Better  make  the  House  team,  Jenks,"  said 
the  low)  even  voice  of  the  captain.  "  You  want 
to  harden  up  a  bit.  Glad  you  reported, 
though." 

Then  Dink  stood  before  his  captain,  dimly 
aware  of  the  quick  little  eyes  of  Mr.  Ware 
quietly  scrutinizing  him. 

"What  form?" 

"  Third.7' 

The  two  were  silent  a  moment  studying  not 
the  slender,  wiry  figure,  but  the  look  in  the  eyes 
within. 

"  What  are  you  out  for? " 

"End,  sir." 

"What  do  you  weigh?" 

"One  hundred  and  fifty — about,"  said  Dink. 

A  grim  little  twinkle  appeared  in  the  cap- 
tain's eyes. 

"  About  one  hundred  and  thirty-five,"  he  said, 
with  a  measuring  glance. 

"  But  I'm  hard,  hard  as  nails,  sir,"  said  Stover 
desperately. 

"What  football  have  you  played?" 

Stover  remained  silent. 

"Well?" 

"  I — I  haven't  played,"  he  said  unwillingly* 

"You  seem  unusually  eager,"  said  Cockrell, 
amused  at  this  strange  exhibition  of  willing- 
nesSc 

[161] 


THE    VARMINT 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"Good  spirit;  keep  it  up.  Get  right  out  for 
your  House  team ?> 

"I  won't!"  said  Stover,  blurting  it  out  in  his 
anger  and  then  flushing :  "  I  mean,  give  me  a 
chance,  won't  you,  sir?  " 

Cockrellj  who  had  turned,  stopped  and  came 
back. 

"What  makes  you  think  you  can  play?"  he 
said  not  unkindly. 

"  I've  got  to,"  said  Stover  desperately. 

"  But  you  don't  know  the  game." 

"  Please,  sir,  I'm  not  out  for  the  'Varsity," 
said  Stover  confusedly.  "  I  mean,  I  want  to  be 
in  it,  to  work  for  the  school,  sir." 

"You're  not  a  Freshman?"  said  the  captain, 
and  the  accents  of  his  voice  were  friendly. 

"  No,  sir." 

"What's  your  name?"  said  Cockrell,  a  little 
thrilled  to  feel  the  genuine  veneration  that  in- 
spired the  "  sir." 

"  Stover— Dink  Stover." 

"You  were  down  at  the  Green  last  year, 
weren't  you  ? " 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Stover,  looking  down  with  a 
sinking  feeling. 

"You're  the  fellow  who  tried  to  fight  the 
whole  House?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

[162] 


THE   VARMINT 

"Well,  Dink,  this  is  a  little  different— you 
can't  play  football  on  nothing  but  nerve.79 

"You  can  if  you've  got  enough  of  it,"  said  Sto- 
ver, all  in  a  breath.  "Please,  sir,  give  me  a 
chance,,  You  can  fire  me  if  I'm  no  good.  I  only 
want  to  be  useful.  You've  got  to  have  a  lot  of 
fellows  to  stand  the  banging  and  you  can  bang 
me  around  all  day.  I  do  know  something  about 
it,  sir;  I've  practiced  tackling  and  falling  on  the 
ball  all  summer,  and  I'm  hard  as  nails.  Just 
give  me  a  chance,  will  you?  Just  one  chance, 
sir." 

Cockrell  looked  at  Mr.  Ware,  whose  eye 
showed  the  battling  spark  as  he  nodded. 

"Here,  Dink,"  he  said  gruffly,  "I  can't  be 
wasting  any  more  time  over  you.  I  told  you  to 
go  back  to  the  House  team,  didn't  I  ? " 

Stover,  with  a  lump  in  his  throat,  nodded  the 
answec  he  could  not  utter. 

"Well,  I've  changed  my  mind.  Get  over  there 
in  the  squad." 

The  revulsion  of  feeling  was  so  sudden  that 
tears  came  into  Stover's  eyes. 

"You're  really  going  to  let  me  stay?" 

"  Get  over  there,  you  little  nuisance !  " 

Dink  went  a  few  steps,  and  then  stopped  and 
tightened  his  shoelaces  a  long  minute. 

"Too  bad  the  little  devil  is  so  light,"  said 
Cockrell  to  Mr.  Ware. 

[163] 


THE   VARMINT 

"  Best  player  I  ever  played  against  had  no 
right  on  a  football  field." 

"  But  one  hundred  and  thirty-five ! " 

"  Yes,  that's  pretty  light." 

"What  the  deuce  were  you  chinning  so  long 
about?"  said  Cheyenne  Baxter  to  Dink,  as  he 
came  joyfully  into  the  squad. 

"  Captain  wanted  just  a  bit  of  general  expert 
advice  from  me,"  said  Dink  defiantly.  "I've 
promised  to  help  out." 

The  squad,  dividing,  practiced  starts.  Stover 
held  his  own,  being  naturally  quick ;  and  though 
Flash  Condit  and  Charlie  DeSoto  distanced  him, 
still  he  earned  a  good  word  for  his  performances. 

Presently  Mr.  Ware  came  up  with  a  ball  and, 
with  a  few  words  of  introduction,  started  them 
to  falling  on  it  as  it  bounded  grotesquely  over 
the  ground,  calling  them  from  the  ranks  by 
name. 

"  Hard  at  it,  Stevens." 

"Dive  at  it." 

"  Don't  stop  till  you  get  it." 

"  Oh,  squeeze  the  ball ! " 

Stover,  moving  up,  caught  the  eye  of  Mr. 
Ware  intently  on  him,  and  rose  on  his  toes  with 
the  muscles  in  his  arms  str?ined  and  eager. 

"  Now,  Stover,  hard ! " 

The  ball  with  just  an  extra  impetus  left  the 
hand  of  Mr.  Ware.  Stover  went  at  it  like  a  ter- 
[164] 


THE   VARMINT 

rier,  dove  and  came  up  glorious  aud  muddy  with 
the  pigskin  hugged  in  his  arms.  It  was  the 
extent  of  his  football  knowledge,  but  that 
branch  he  had  mastered  on  the  soft  summer 
turf. 

Mr.  Ware  gave  a  grunt  of  approval  and  sent 
him  plunging  after  another.  This  time  as  he 
dove  the  ball  took  a  tricky  bounce  and  slipped 
through  his  arms.  Quick  as  a  flash  Dink,  roll- 
ing over,  recovered  himself  and  flung  himself 
on  it. 

"  That's  the  way ! "  said  Mr.  Ware.  "  Follow 
it  up.  Can't  always  get  it  the  first  time.  Come 
on,  Baxter." 

The  real  test  camie  with  the  tackling.  He 
waited  his  turn,  all  eyes,  trying  to  catch  the 
trick,  as  boy  after  boy  in  front  of  him  went 
cleanly  or  awkwardly  out  to  down  the  man 
who  came  plunging  at  him.  Some  tackled 
sharply  and  artistically,  their  feet  leaving  the 
ground  and  taking  the  runner  off  his  legs  as 
though  a  scythe  had  passed  under  him;  but  most 
of  the  tackling  was  crude,  and  often  the  runner 
slipped  through  the  arms  and  left  the  tackier 
prone  on  the  ground  to  rise  amid  the  jeers  of 
his  fellows. 

"  Your  turn,  Stover,"  said  the  voice  of  the  cap- 
tain. "Wait  a  minute."  He  looked  over  the 
squad  and  selected  McCarty,  saying:  "Here, 
[165] 


THE   VARMINT 

Tough,  come  out  here.  Here's  a  fellow  thinks 
all  you  need  in  this  game  is  nerve.  Let's  see 
what  he's  got." 

Dink  stood  out,  neither  hearing  nor  caring  for 
the  laugh  that  went  up.  He  glanced  up  fifteen 
yards  away  where  Tough  McCarty  stood  wait- 
ing the  starting  signal.  He  was  not  afraid,  he 
was  angry  clean  through,  ready  to  tackle  the 
whole  squad,  one  after  another. 

"  Shall  I  take  it  sideways?  "  said  Tough,  ex- 
pecting to  be  tackled  from  the  side  as  the  others 
had  been. 

"No,  head  on,  Tough.  Let's  see  if  you  can 
get  by  him,"  said  Cockrell.  "  Let  her  go ! " 

McCarty,  with  the  memory  of  past  defiances, 
went  toward  Stover  head  down,  full  tilt.  Or- 
dinarily in  practice  the  runner  slackens  just  be- 
fore the  tackle;  but  McCarty,  expecting  slight 
resistance  from  a  novice,  arrived  at  top  speed. 

Stover,  instead  of  hesitating  or  waiting  the 
coming,  hurled  himself  recklessly  forward. 
Shoulder  met  knee  with  a  crash  that  threw  them 
both.  Stunned  by  the  savage  impact,  Stover, 
spilled  head  over  heels,  dizzy  and  furious,  in- 
stinctively flung  himself  from  his  knees  upon  the 
prostrate  body  of  McCarty,  as  he  had  followed 
the  elusive  ball  a  moment  before. 

"That's  instinct,  football  instinct,"  said  Mi*. 
Ware  to  Cockrell,  as  they  approached  the  spot 
[166] 


THE   VARMINT 

where  Dink,  still  dazed,  was  clutching  Tough 
McCarty's  knees  in  a  convulsive  hug. 

"  Let  go!  Let  go  there,  you  little  varmint," 
said  Tough  McCarty,  considerably  shaken. 
"  How  long  are  you  going  to  hold  me  here?  " 

Some  one  touched  Dink  on  the  shoulder;  he 
looked  up  through  the  blur  to  see  the  captain's 
face. 

"All  right,  Dink,  get  up." 

But  Stover  released  his  grip  not  a  whit. 

"  Here,  you  young  bulldog,"  said  Cockrell 
with  a  laugh,  "it's  all  over.  Let  go.  Stand  up. 
Sort  of  groggy,  eh  ?  " 

Dink,  pulled  to  his  feet,  felt  the  earth  slip 
under  him  in  drunken  reelings. 

"  I  missed  him,"  he  said  brokenly,  leaning 
against  Mr.  Ware. 

"  H'm,  not  so  bad,"  said  the  coach  gruffly. 

"How  do  you  feel?"  said  Garry  Cockrell, 
looking  at  him  with  his  quiet  smile. 

Dink  saw  the  smile  and  misjudged  it. 

"Give  me  another  chance,"  he  cried  furiously, 
« I'll  get  him." 

"What!  Ready  for  another  tackle?"  said  the 
captain,  looking  at  him  intently. 

"Please,  sir." 

"Well,  get  your  head  clear  first." 

"  Let  me  take  it  now,  sir !  " 

"  All  right," 

[167] 


THE    VARMINT 

"Hit  him  harder  than  he  hits  you,  and  grip 
with  your  hands,"  said  the  voice  of  Mr.  Ware  in 
his  ear. 

Dink  stood  out  again.  The  earth  was  gradu- 
ally returning  to  a  state  of  equilibrium,  but  his 
head  was  buzzing  and  his  legs  were  decidedly 
rebels  to  his  will. 

The  captain,  seeing  this,  to  give  him  time, 
spoke  to  McCarty  with  just  a  shade  of  malice. 

"Well,  Tough,  do  you  want  to  take  it  again?" 

"Do  I?"  said  McCarty  sarcastically.  "Oh, 
yes,  most  enjoyable !  Don't  let  me  interfere  with 
your  pleasure.  Why  don't  you  try  it  yourself?  " 

"Would  you  rather  watch?" 

"  Oh,  no,  of  course  not.  This  is  a  real  pleas- 
ure, thank  you.  The  little  devil  would  dent  a 
freight  train." 

"All  ready,  Stover?"  said  Cockrell. 

The  players  stood  in  two  lines,  four  yards 
apart.  No  one  laughed.  They  looked  at  Stover, 
thrilling  a  little  with  his  communicated  reck- 
lessness, grunting  forth  their  approval. 

"  Good  nerve." 

"The  real  stuff." 

"  Pure  grit." 

"Little  devil." 

Stover's  face  had  gone  white,  the  eyes  had 
dwindled  and  set  intensely,  the  line  of  the  mouth 
was  drawn  taut,  while  on  his  forehead  the  wind 
[168] 


THE   VARMINT 

lifted  the  matted  hair  like  a  banner.  In  the 
middle  of  the  lane,  crowding  forward,  his  arms 
out,  ready  to  spring,  his  glance  fixed  on  Mc- 
Carty,  he  waited  like  a  champion  guarding  the 
pass. 

"All  right,  Stover?" 

Some  one  near  him  repeated  the  question. 

"Come  on!"  he  answered. 

McCarty's  one  hundred  and  seventy  pounds 
came  rushing  down.  But  this  time  the  instinct 
was  strong.  He  slacked  a  bit  at  the  end  as  Sto- 
ver, not  waiting  his  coming,  plunged  in  to  meet 
him.  Down  they  went  again,  but  this  time  it 
was  the  force  of  Stover's  impact  that  threw 
them. 

When  Cockrell  came  up,  Dink,  altogether 
groggy,  was  entwined  around  one  leg  of  Mc- 
Carty  with  a  gaunt  grin  of  possession. 

They  hauled  him  up,  patted  him  on  the  back 
and  walked  him  up  and  down  in  the  cool  breeze. 
Suddenly,  after  several  minutes,  the  mist  rose. 
He  saw  the  fields  and  heard  the  sharp  cries  of 
the  coaches  prodding  on  the  players.  Then  he 
looked  up  to  find  Garry  CockrelFs  arm  about 
him. 

"  All  right  now?  "  said  the  captain's  voice. 

Stover  hastily  put  the  arm  away  from  him. 

"I'm  all  right." 

"  Did  I  give  you  a  little  too  much,  youngster?  " 
[169] 


THE    YAEMINT 

"  I'm  ready  again,"  said  Stover  instantly. 

Cockrell  laughed  a  short,  contented  laugh. 

"You've  done  enough  for  to-day." 

"I'll  learn  how,"  said  Dink  doggedly. 

"You  know  the  real  things  in  football  now, 
my  boy,"  said  the  captain  shortly.  "  We'll  teach 
you  the  rest." 

Dink  thought  he  meant  it  sarcastically. 

"You  will  give  me  a  chance,  won't  you?"  he 
said. 

"Yes,"  said  the  captain,  laying  his  hand  on 
his  shoulder  with  a  smile.  "  You'll  get  chance 
enough,  my  boy.  Fact  is,  I'm  going  to  start  you 
in  at  end  on  the  scrub.  You'll  get  all  the  hard 
knocks  you're  looking  for  there.  You  won't  get 
any  credit  for  what  you  do — but  you  boys  are 
what's  going  to  make  the  team." 

"Oh,  sir,  do  you  mean  it?" 

"  I'm  in  the  habit  of  meaning  things." 

"I'll— I'll "     began     Stover,     and     then 

stopped  before  the  impossibility  of  expressing 
how  many  times  his  life  should  be  thrown  to  the 
winds. 

"  I  know  you  will,"  said  the  captain,  amused. 
"And  now,  you  young  bulldog,  back  to  your 
room  and  shake  yourself  together." 

"  But  I  want  to  go  on ;  I'm  feeling  fine." 

"  Off  the  field,"  said  the  captain  with  terrific 
sternness. 

[170] 


THE   VARMINT 

Dink  went  like  a  dog  ordered  home,  slowly, 
unwillingly,  turning  from  time  to  time  in  hopes 
that  his  captain  would  relent. 

When  he  had  passed  the  chapel  and  the  strife 
of  the  practice  had  dropped  away  he  felt  all  at 
once  sharp,  busy  pains  running  up  his  back  and 
i  over  his  shoulders.  But  he  minded  them  not. 
At  that  moment  with  the  words  of  the  captain- — 
Ms  captain  forever  now — ringing  in  his  ears, 
he  would  have  gone  forth  gratefully  to  tackle 
the  whole  team,  one  after  another,  from  wiry 
little  Charlie  DeSoto  to  the  elephantine  P. 
Lentz. 

Suddenly  a  thought  came  to  him. 

"Gee,  I  bet  I  shook  up  Tough  McCarty,  any- 
how," he  said  grimly.  And  refreshed  by  this 
delightful  thought  he  went  briskly  across  the 
Circle. 

At  the  steps  Finnegan,  coming  out  the  door, 
hailed  him  excitedly : 

"Hi,  Dink,  we've  got  a  Freshman  who's  set- 
ting up  to  jiggers  and  eclairs.  Hurry  up!" 

«  No,"  said  Dink. 

"What?"  said  Dennis  faintly. 

"  I  can't,"  said  Dink,  bristling;  "I'm  in  train- 
ing." 


[171] 


XIII 

The  Tennessee  Shad,  reclining  in  an  armchair 
softened  by  sofa  cushions,  gave  critical  direc- 
tions to  Dink  Stover  and  Dennis  de  Brian  de 
Boru  Finnegan,  to  whom,  with  great  unselfish- 
ness, he  had  surrendered  all  the  privileges  of 
the  hanging  committee. 

"  Suppose  you  agitate  yourself  a  little,"  said 
Dink,  descending  from  a  rickety  chair  which, 
placed  on  a  table,  had  allowed  him  to  suspend 
a  sporting  print  from  the  dusty  moulding. 

"  The  sight  of  you  at  hard  labor,"  said  Finne- 
gan, from  a  bureau  on  the  other  side  of  the  room, 
"  would  fill  me  with  cheer,  delectation  and  com- 
fort." 

The  Tennessee  Shad,  by  four  convulsive  proc- 
esses, reached  his  feet. 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  he  said  carelessly.  "  Thought 
you  preferred  to  run  this  show  yourselves." 

Picking  up  a  poster,  he  selected  with  mali- 
cious intent  the  most  unsuitable  spot  in  the 
room  and  started  to  climb  the  bureau,  remark- 
ing: 

"  This  is  about  it,  I  should  say." 

The  artistic  souls  of  Dink  and  Dennis  pro- 
tested. 

[172] 


THE    VAKMINT 

"  Murder,  no !  " 

"You  chump!" 

"Too  big  for  it." 

"  Well,  if  you  know  so  much,"  said  the  Ten- 
nessee Shad,  halting  before  the  last  upward 
struggle  and  holding  out  the  poster,  "where 
would  you  put  it?" 

Stover  and  Dennis  indignantly  bore  the  poster 
away  and  with  much  effort  and]  straining 
tacked  it  in  an  appropriate  place. 

"  Why,  that  is  better,"  said  the  Tennessee 
Shad  admiringly,  regaining  his  chair,  not  too 
openly.  "Much  better.  Looks  fine!  Great! 
Say,  I've  got  an  idea.  Stick  the  ballet  girl 
under  it." 

"What?" 

"  You're  crazy ! " 

"  Well,  where  would  you  put  it?  " 

"  Here,  you  chump.' 

"Why,  that's  not  half  bad,  either,"  said  the 
Tennessee  Shad,  once  more  back  among  the 
cushions.  "A  trifle  more  to  the  left,  down — 
now  up — good — make  fast.  First  rate;  guess 
you  have  the  best  eye.  Now  where  are  you  go- 
ing to  put  this? " 

By  this  process  of  self-debasement  and  gen- 
erous exterior  admiration  the  Tennessee  Shad 
successfully  perceived  the  heavy  hanging  and  ar- 
ranging brought  to  a  satisfactory  conclusion. 
[173] 


THE    VARMINT 

The  vital  touches  were  given,  the  transom  was 
hung  with  heavy  black  canvas;  a  curtain  of  the 
same  was  so  arranged  as  to  permit  its  being 
drawn  over  the  telltale  cracks  of  the  door. 
Dennis  and  Stover,  sent  to  reconnoiter  from  the 
hall,  waited  while  the  Tennessee  Shad  passed  a 
lighted  candle  back  and  forth  over  the  sealed 
entrance.  One  traitor  crack  was  discovered  and 
promptly  obliterated. 

"  Now  we're  secure,"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad. 
"Cave  of  Silence  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
The  Old  Roman  would  have  to  smell  us  to  get 
on." 

"  How  about  the  windows?  "  said  Dink. 

"They're  a  cinch,"  said  the  Shad.  "When 
you  get  the  shade  down  and  the  shutters  closed 
a  blanket  will  fix  them  snug  as  a  bug  in  a  rug. 
Now,  at  nine  o'clock  we  can  go  to  bed  without 
suffering  from  drafts.  Ha,  ha — joke." 

"  Burn  the  midnight  oil,  etceteray — etcetera." 

"  To-morrow,"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad, 
"  Volts  Mashon  is  going  to  install  a  safety  light 
for  us." 

"Elucidate,"  said  Dink. 

"A  safety  light  is  a  light  that  has  a  connec- 
tion with  the  door.  Shut  door,  light ;  open  door, 
where  is  Moses?  Midnight  reading  made  a 
pleasure." 

"  Marvelous ! " 

[174] 


THE   VARMINT 

"  Oh,  I've  heard  of  that  before,"  said  Finne- 
gan, 

The  Tennessee  Shad,  meanwhile,  had  been 
busy  stretching  a  string  from  his  bed  to  the 
hot-air  register  and  from  a  stick  at  the  foot  of 
his  bed  to  a  pulley  at  the  top. 

Stover  and  Finnegan  waited  respectfully  until 
the  Shad,  having  finished  his  operations,  deigned 
to  give  a  practical  exhibition. 

"  This  thing  is  simple,"  said  he,  stretching  out 
on  his  bed  and  pulling  a  string  at  one  side. 
"Opens  hot-air  register.  No  applause  neces- 
sary. But  this  is  a  little,  comforting  idea  of 
my  own.  Protection  from  sudden  change  of 
temperature  without  bodily  exposure."  Extend- 
ing his  hand  he  pulled  the  other  rope,  which, 
running  through  the  pulley  over  his  head, 
brought  the  counterpane  quickly  over  him. 
"How's  that?  No  sitting  up,  reaching  down, 
fumbling  about  in  zero  weather." 

"  That's  good  as  far  as  it  goes,"  said  Dennis, 
whose  natural  state  was  not  one  of  reverence; 
"but  how  about  the  window?  Some  one  has 
to  get  up  and  shut  the  window." 

"  Simple  as  eggs,"  said  the  Shad,  yawning 
disdainfully.  "A  string  and  a  pulley  do  the 
trick,  see?  Down  comes  the  window.  All 
worked  at  the  same  exchange.  Well,  Dink,  you 
may  lead  the  cheer." 

[175] 


THE    VARMINT 

Now,  Stover  suddenly  remembered  a  device  he 
had  been  told  of,  and,  remembering  it,  to  give 
it  the  appearance  of  improvisation  he  pretended 
to  deliberate. 

"Well,"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad,  surprised, 
"  my  humble  little  inventions  don't  seem  to  im- 
press you." 

"  Naw." 

"They  don't,  eh!    Why  not?" 

"  Oh,  it's  the  right  principle,"  said  Stover,  as- 
suming a  deliberate  look ;  "  but  crude,  very 
crude,  backwoods,  primitive,  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing." 

The  Tennessee  Shad,  amazed,  looked  at  Finne- 
gan,  who  spoke: 

"Crude,  Dink?" 

"  Why,  yes.  All  depends  on  whether  the  Shad 
wakes  up  or  not.  And  then,  why  hand  labor?  " 

"  I  suppose  you  have  something  more  recher- 
che to  offer,"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad  cuttingly, 
having  recovered. 

"  Why,  yes,  I  might,"  said  Stover  coolly.  "  A 
real  inventor  would  run  the  whole  thing  by  ma- 
chinery. Who's  got  an  alarm  clock?" 

Dennis,  mystified,  returned  running  with  his. 

Stover,  securing  it  with  strings,  fastened  it 
firmly  on  the  table,  which  he  moved  near  the 
scene  of  operations.  He  then  lowered  the  upper 
half  of  the  window,  assuring  himself  that  a 
slight  impetus  would  start  it.  To  the  sash  he 
[176] 


THE   VARMINT 

attached  a  stout  string  wihich  he  ran  through  a 
pulley  fixed  to  the  top  of  the  window  frame;  to 
the  string  he  fastened  a  weight  which  he  care- 
fully balanced  on  the  edge  of  a  chair;  to  the 
weight,  thus  fastened,  he  attached  another 
string  which  he  led  to  the  clock  and  made  fast 
to  the  stem  that  wound  the  alarm.  Then  he 
straightened  up,  cast  a  glance  over  the  Shad's 
handiwork  and  went  to  the  register. 

"When  the  window  shuts  it  should  open  the 
register,  of  course — first  principles,"  he  said 
crushingly.  He  disconnected  the  string  from  the 
bed  and  arranged  it  on  the  window.  Having 
wound  the  clock  he  addressed  his  audience: 

"  It's  a  simple  little  thing,"  he  said  with  a 
wave  of  his  hand.  "I  happened  to  remember 
that  the  key  of  an  alarm  clock  turns  as  the  alarm 
works.  That's  all  there  is  to  it*  Set  the  alarm 
when  you  want  to  wake  up — see — like  this. 
Alarm  goes  off,  winds  up  spring,  throws  weight 
off  balance,  weight  falls,  shuts  the  window, 
opens  the  register  and  you  stay  under  the  covers. 
Practical  demonstration  now  proceeding." 

The  mechanism  worked  exactly  as  he  had  pre- 
dicted. The  Tennessee  Shad  and  the  Wild 
Irishman,  transfixed  with  awe,  watched  with 
dropped  mouths  the  operation.  Finnegan,  the 
first  to  recover,  salaamed  in  true  Oriental 
fashion. 

"Mr.  Edison,"  he  said  in  a  whisper,  "don't 
[177] 


THE    VARMINT 

take  advantage  of  two  innocent  babes  in  the 
wood.     Did  you  honestly  just  work  this  out?" 

"Oh,  no,  of  course  not,"  said  Dink  loftily. 
"My  father  told  me, — it  cost  him  a  fortune;  he 
gave  years  of  his  life  to  perfecting  it !  " 

"  And  this  to  me !  "  said  the  exponent  of  the 
superlative  reproachfully. 

The  Tennessee  Shad  rose  and  offered  his  hand 
with  a  gesture  worthy  of  Washington. 

"Sir  to  you.  I  am  your  humble  servant. 
Wonderful!  Marvelous!  Smashing!  Terrific! 
Sublime!" 

"  Do  it  again,"  said  Dennis  de  Brian  de  Boru. 

The  alarm  being  wound  and  set,  the  operation 
was  repeated  with  the  same  success,  while  Den- 
nis danced  about  excitedly  and  the  Tennessee 
Shad  contemplated  it  with  dreamy  absorption. 

"  Jemima !  "  said  Dennis.  "  And  it  works  for 
any  time?" 

"Any  time,"  said  Dink,  with  one  hand  grace- 
fully resting  on  his  hip. 

"  Cracky ! "  exclaimed  Dennis,  prancing  ex- 
citedly toward  the  door.  "I'll  get  the  whole 
House  up." 

"Dennis!" 

Finnegan  stopped,  surprised  at  the  note  of 
authority  in  the  Tennessee  Shad's  voice. 

"  Dennis  de  Brian  de  Boru  Finnegan ;  back 
and  sit  down." 

[178] 


THE    VARMINT 

"What's  wrong?" 

"You  would  call  in  the  whole  House,  would 
you?" 

"  Why  not?  "  said  Dink,  thirsting  for  the  ap- 
plause of  the  multitude. 

"  Dink,  oh,  Dink ! "  said  the  Shad,  in  profound 
sorrow.  "You  would  throw  away  a  secret 
worth  millions,  would  you?" 

Dink  looked  at  Dennis,  who  returned  the  look, 
and  then  with  a  simultaneous  motion  they  sat 
down. 

"  This  invention  has  millions  in  it,  millions," 
said  the  Tennessee  Shad,  promoter.  "  It  is  sim- 
ple, but  revolutionary.  Every  room  in  the 
school  must  be  equipped  with  it." 

"  Then  there's  all  the  apartment  houses,"  said 
Dennis  eagerly. 

"That  will  come  later,"  said  the  Tennessee 
Shad. 

"We'll  patent  it,"  said  Stover,  seeing  clouds 
of  gold. 

"Certainly,"  said  the  promoter.  "We  will 
patent  the  principle." 

"  Let's  form  a  company." 

The  three  rose  and  solemnly  joined  hands. 

"What  shall  we  call  it?" 

"The  Third  Triumvirate?"  said  Dennis. 

"  Good !  "  said  the  Tennessee  Shad. 

"What  shall  we  charge?  "  said  Dink. 
[179] 


THE   VARMINT 

"We  must  make  a  dollar  profit  on  each,"  said 
the  Tennessee  Shad.  "That  means — four  hun- 
dred fellows  in  the  school — allowing  for  room- 
mates; we  should  clear  two  hundred  and  ten 
dollars  at  the  lowest.  That  means  seventy  dol- 
lars apiece  profit." 

"Let's  begin,"  said  Dennis. 

"Fm  unalterably  opposed,"  said  Dink,  "to 
allowing  Doc  Macnooder  in  the  firm." 

"  Me,  too,"  said  Dennis. 

"  Doc  is  strong  on  detail,"  said  the  Tennessee 
Shad  doubtfully. 

"  I'm  unalterably  opposed,"  said  Dink,  "  to 
allowing  Doc  Macnooder  to  swallow  this  firm." 

"  Me,  too,"  said  Dennis. 

"  Doc  has  great  business  experience,"  said  the 
Tennessee  Shad ;  "  wonderful,  practical  mind." 

"  I'm  unalterably "  said  Dink  and  stopped, 

as  the  rest  was  superfluous. 

"Me,  too,"  said  Dennis. 

"Some  one's  got  to  work  for  us  in  the  other 
Houses." 

"  Make  him  our  foreign  representative,"  said 
Stover. 

"  And  give  him  a  commission  ?  " 

"  Sure — ten  per  cent." 

"No  more,"  said  Dennis.  "Even  that  cuts 
down  our  profits." 

"All  right,"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad.  "As 
[180] 


THE   VARMINT 

you  say,  so  be  it.  But  still  I  think  Doc  Mac- 
nooder's  business  sagacity " 

At  this  moment  Doc  Macnooder  walked  into 
the  room.  The  three  future  millionaires  re- 
sponded to  his  greeting  with  dignity,  keeping  in 
mind  that  distance  which  should  separate  a 
board  of  directors  from  a*  mere  traveling  man. 

"  Hello,"  said  Macnooder  glibly.  "  All  ship- 
shape and  ready  for  action.  Tea  served  here 
and  chafing-dish  ready  for  the  midnight  rabbit. 
Ha,  ha,  Dink,  still  got  the  souvenir  toilet  set,  I 
see." 

"  Still,  but  not  long,"  said  Dink.  "  But  that 
story  comes  later.  Sit  down,  Doc,  and  pay  at- 
tention." 

"  Why  so  much  chestiness?  "  said  Doc,  puzzled. 
"  I  haven't  sold  anything  to  any  of  you,  have 
I?" 

"Doc,"  said  Stover,  "we  have  formed  a  com- 
pany and  we  want  to  talk  business." 

"What  company?  " 

"  The  Third  Triumvirate  Manufacturing  Com- 
pany," said  Dennis. 

"What  does  it  manufacture?" 

"  This,"  said  Stover,  indicating  the  appliance. 
"A  combined  window  closer  and  alarm  clock 
that  also  opens  the  register." 

"  Let's  see  it,"  said  Macnooder,  all  excitement. 

The  demonstration  took  place.  Macnooder  the 
[181] 


THE    VARMINT 

enthusiast  jvas  conquered,  but  Macnooder  the 
financier  remained  cold  and  controlled.  He  sat 
down,  watched  by  three  pairs  of  eyes,  took  from 
his  pocket  a  pair  of  spectacles,  placed  them  on 
his  nose  and  said  indifferently: 

"Well?" 

"What  do  you  think  of  it?" 

"It's  a  beaut!" 

"I  say,  Doc,"  said  Finnegan,  "now,  won't 
every  fellow  in  the  school  be  crying  for  one, 
won't  be  happy  till  he  gets  it,  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing?  " 

"Every  fellow  in  the  school  will  have  one," 
said  Macnooder  carefully,  making  a  distinction 
which  was  perceived  only  by  the  Tennessee  Shad. 

"  Now,  Doc,"  said  Dink,  still  glowing  with  his 
triumph  over  the  Tennessee  Shad,  "let's  talk 
business." 

Macnooder  took  off  the  glasses  and  minutely 
polished  them  with  his  handkerchief. 

"You've  formed  a  company,  eh?  " 

"  The  Third  Triumvirate — the  three  of  us." 

"Well,  where  do  I  come  in?" 

"  You're  to  be  our  foreign  representative." 

"Commission  ten  per  cent,"  added  Finnegan 
carefully. 

The  Tennessee  Shad  said  nothing,  waiting  ex- 
pectantly. Macnooder  rose  whistling  through 
his  teeth  and  stood  gazing  down  at  the  alarm 
clock. 

[182] 


THE   VARMINT 

"Foreign  representative,  commission  ten  per 
cent,"  he  said  softly. 

"We  thought  we'd  give  you  first  whack  at 
it,"  said  Stover  in  a  careless,  business-like  way. 

"  So.    What's  your  idea  of  developing  it?  " 

"Why,  we  thought  of  installing  it  for  a  dol- 
lar." 

"With  the  clock?" 

"Oh,  no!    The  clock  extra." 

"Charging  a  dollar  for  string  and  pulley?" 

"And  the  invention." 

"Humph!" 

"Well,  Doc,  is  it  a  go?"  said  Dink,  observ- 
ing him  fall  into  a  revery. 

"  No,  I  guess  I'm  not  much  interested  in  this," 
said  Macnooder,  taking  up  his  hat.  "  There's 
no  money  in  it." 

"Why,  Doc,"  said  Finnegan,  aghast,  "you 
said  yourself  every  fellow  would  have  to  have 
it." 

"Would  have  it,"  said  Macnooder  in  correc- 
tion. "The  invention's  all  right,  but  it's  not 
salable." 

"  Why  not?  " 

"Nothing  to  sell.  First  fellow  who  sees  it 
can  do  it  himself." 

Finnegan  looked  at  Stover,  who  suddenly  felt 
his  pockets  lighten. 

"  Doc  is  very  strong  on  detail,"  said  the  Ten- 
nessee Shad  softly,  in  a  reminiscent  way. 
[183] 


THE    VARMINT 

"You  might  sell  it  to  one  fellow,"  said  Mac- 
nooder, "  without  telling  him.  But  soon  as  you 
set  it  up  every  one  will  copy  it." 

"  Great  business  head,"  continued  the  Tennes- 
see Shad. 

"  It's  a  good  idea,"  said  Macnooder  conde- 
scendingly. "You  might  get  a  vote  of  thanks, 
but  that's  all  you  would  get.  Do  you  see  the 
rub?" 

"  I  see,"  said  Dink. 

"  Me,  too,"  said  Dennis. 

"  And  a  wonderful  practical  mind,"  concluded 
the  Tennessee  Shad  dreamily. 

"  Well,  let's  be  public  benefactors  then,"  said 
Dennis  in  a  melancholy  tone. 

"  And  such  a  beautiful  idea,"  said  Dink  mourn- 
fully. 

"  I  move  the  Third  Triumvirate  disband,"  said 
the  Tennessee  Shad;  and  there  was  no  objec- 
tion. 

"Now,"  said  Doc  Macnooder  briskly,  sitting 
down,  "  I'll  put  my  own  proposition  to  you  ama- 
teurs. There's  only  one  way  to  make  the  thing 
go,  and  I've  got  the  way.  I  take  all  responsi- 
bility and  all  risks.  All  I  ask  is  control  of  the 
stock — fifty-one  per  cent." 

Ten  minutes  later  the  Third  Triumvirate  Man- 
ufacturing Company  was  reformed  on  the  fol- 
lowing basis: 

[184] 


THE   VARMINT 

PRESIDENT  ....  Doc  Macnooder,  51  shares. 
ADVISORY  BOARD  .  The   Third    Triumvirate. 
TREASURER  .     .     .  Doc  Macnooder. 

PAID-UP  CAPITAL 

Macnooder       .  . $5.10 

The  Tennessee  Shad 1.70 

Dink  Stover 1.70 

Dennis  de  B.  de  B.  Finnegan  ....  1.50 

"  Now,"  said  Macnooder,  when  the  articles 
were  safely  signed  and  the  capital  paid  up, 
"  here's  the  way  we  work  it.  We've  got  to  do 
two  things :  first,  conceal  the  way  it's  done  until 
we  sell  it ;  and  second,  keep  those  who  buy  from 
letting  on." 

"  That's  hard,"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad. 

"  But  necessary.     I'm  thinking  out  a  plan." 

"Of  course  the  first  part  is  a  cinch,"  said 
Dennis.  "A  few  extras,  etcetera,  etceteray. 
It's  putting  the  ribbons  in  the  lingerie,  that's 
all." 

"Exactly." 

"You  don't  think  it's  selling  goods  under 
false  pretenses?" 

"Naw,"    said   Macnooder.    "Same    principle 

as  the  patent  medicine — the  only  wheel  that  goes 

round  there  is  a  nice,  fat  temperance  measure 

of  alcohol,  isn't  it?    We'll  have  the  first  public 

[185] 


THE   VARMINT 

demonstration  to-morrow  afternoon.  I'll  dis- 
tribute a  few  more  pearls  to-night.  Ta,  ta." 

The  three  sat  quietly,  listening  to  the  fall  of 
his  departing  steps. 

"If  we'd  asked  him  in  the  first  place,"  said 
the  Tennessee  Shad,  gazing  out  the  window, 
"  we'd  only  given  up  twenty-fiv^  per  cent. — great 
business  head,  Doc;  great  mind  for  detail." 


[1861 


XIV 

Macnooder,  that  night,  formed'  the  Eureka 
Purchasing  Company,  incorporated  himself,  and 
secured,  at  jigger  rates,  every  second-hand  alarm 
clock  on  which  he  could  lay  his  hands — but 
more  of  that  hereafter. 

At  five  o'clock  the  next  afternoon  the  combined 
Kennedy  House  packed  itself  into  the  Tennessee 
Shad's  room^  where  Doc  Macnooder  rose  and 
addressed  them: 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  Kennedy :  I  will  only  de- 
tain you  an  hour  or  so ;  I  have  only  a  few  thou- 
sand words  to  offer.  We  are  gathered  here  on  an 
auspicious  occasion,  a  moment  of  history — the 
moment  is  historical.  Your  esteemed  House- 
mate, Mr.  Dink  Stover,  has  completed,  after 
years  of  endeavor,  an  invention  that  is  destined 
to  be  a  household  word  from  the  northernmost 
wilds  of  the  Davis  House  to  the  sun-kissed  fra- 
grance of  the  Green,  from  the  Ethiopian  banks  of 
the  fur-bearing  canal  to  the  Western  Tins  of 
Hot-dog  Land !  Gentlemen,  I  will  be  frank " 

"  Cheese  it !  "  said  a  voice. 

"I  will  be  frank,"  repeated  Macnooder,  turn- 
ing on  them  a  countenance  on  which  candor 
[187] 


THE   VARMINT 

struggled  with  innocence.  "  I  did  not  wish  or 
encourage  the  present  method  of  procedure.  As 
a  member  of  the  Dickinson  House  I  combated 
the  proposition  of  Mr.  Stover  and  his  associates 
to  make  this  invention  a  Kennedy  House  sine- 
cure. I  still  combat  it — but  I  yield.  If  they 
wish  to  give  away  their  profits  they  can.  Gen- 
tlemen, in  a  few  moments  I  shall  have  the  pleas- 
ure of  placing  before  you  an  opportunity  to  be- 
come shareholders  in  one  of  the  most  epoch- 
making  inventions  the  world  has  ever  known." 

"What's  it  called?"  said  a  voice. 

"It's  called,"  said  Macnooder  slowly,  secure 
now  of  the  attention  of  his  audience,  "  it's  called 
The  Complete  Sleep  Prolonger.  The  title  itself 
is  a  promise  and  a  hope.  I  will  claim  nothing 
for  this  wonderful  little  invention.  It  not  only 
combats  the  cold,  but  it  encourages  the  heat ;  it 
prolongs  not  only  the  sleep,  but  the  existence; 
it  will  increase  the  stature,  make  fat  men  thin, 
thin  men  impressive,  clear  the  complexion, 
lighten  the  eye  and  make  the  hair  long  and 
curly." 

"  Let's  have  it,"  cried  several  voices. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Macnooder,  seeing  that  no 
further  delay  was  possible,  "  our  first  demonstra- 
tion will  be  entitled  The  Old  Way." 

Dennis  de  Brian  de  Boru  Fimregan,  in  pa- 
jamas, appeared  from  a  closet,  went  to  the 
[188] 


THE   VARMINT 

window,  opened  it,  shut  the  register,  yawned, 
went  to  his  bed  and  drew  the  covers  over  his 
head.  The  faint  sounds  of  a  mandolin  were 
heard  from  the  expert  hands  of  the  Tennessee 
Shad. 

"  Scene,"  said  Macnooder,  fitting  his  accents 
to  low  music  as  is  the  custom  of  vaudeville — 
"scene  represents  the  young  Lawrenceville  boy, 
exhausted  by  the  preparation  of  the  next  day's 
lessons,  seeking  to  rest  his  too  conscientious 
brain.  The  night  passes,  the  wind  rises.  It 
grows  cold.  Hark  the  rising  bell.  He  hears  it 
not.  What  now?  He  rises  in  his  bed,  the  room 
is  bitter  cold.  He  bounds  to  the  window7  over 
the  frozen  ground.  He  springs  to  the  register 
and  back  to  his  bed.  He  looks  at  his  watch. 
Heavens!  Not  a  moment  to  lose.  The  room  is 
bitter  cold,  but  he  must  up  and  dress !  " 

Finnegan,  completing  the  pantomime,  returned 
with  thunders  of  applause. 

"Gentlemen,"  cried  Macnooder,  "is  this  pic- 
ture a  true  one?  " 

And  the  roar  came  back: 

"You  bet!" 

"  Our  next  instructive  little  demonstration  is 
entitled  The  Scientific  Way  or  The  Sleep  Pro- 
longer  Watches  Over  Him.  Observe  now  the 
modest  movements  of  the  Dink,  the  Kennedy 
House  Edison." 

[189] 


THE   VARMINT 

Dink,  thus  introduced,  connected  the  hot-air 
register  to  the  window  sash,  the  window  sash 
to  the  weight — specially  covered  with  tin  foil — 
and  brought  forth  the  table  on  which  was  the 
now  completed  Sleep  Prolonger.  Only  the  face 
of  the  clock  appeared,  the  rest  was  buried  under 
an  arrangement  of  cardboard  boxes  and  per- 
fectly useless  spools,  that  turned  with  the  rope 
that  took  a  thrice  devious  way  to  the  alarm  key. 
In  front,  two  Kennedy  House  flags  were  promi- 
nently displayed. 

"  Is  everything  ready,  Mr.  Stover? "  said  Mac- 
nooder, while  the  crowd  craned  forth,  amazed  at 
the  intricacy  of  the  machine. 

"Ready,  Mr.  President." 

"Second  demonstration,"  said  Macnooder. 

Finnegan  again  entered,  fixed  the  register, 
lowered  the  window  and,  going  to  the  clock,  set 
the  alarm. 

"He  sets  the  alarm  for  half-past  seven,"  said 
Macnooder  in  cadence.  "One  half-hour  gained. 
The  night  passes.  The  wind  rises.  It  grows 
cold.  Hark  the  rising  bell.  He  hears  it  not; 
he  doesn't  have  to.  The  Sleep  Prolonger  is 
there." 

The  alarm  shot  off  witK  a  suddenness  that 
brought  responsive  jumps  from  the  audience, 
the  weight  fell,  and  to  the  amazement  of  all,  the 
window  closed  and  the  register  opened. 
[190] 


THE   VARMINT 

"Watch  him  now,  watch  him,"  cried  Mac- 
nooder,  hushing  the  tumult  of  applause.  "  Ob- 
serve the  comfort  and  the  satisfaction  in  his 
look.  He  has  not  stirred,  not  a  limb  of  his  body 
has  been  exposed,  and  yet  the  room  grows  warm. 
His  eye  is  on  the  clock ;  he  will  rise  in  time,  and 
he  will  rise  in  comfort! 

"  Gentlemen,  this  great  opportunity  is  now  be- 
fore you.  This  marvel  of  human  ingenuity,  this 
baffling  example  of  mechanical  intricacy  is  now 
within  your  reach.  It  can  do  anything.  It  is 
yours.  It  is  yours  at  prices  that  would  make 
a  miner  turn  from  picking  up  gold  nuggets.  It 
is  yours  for  one  dollar  and  twenty-five  cents — 
twenty-five  cents  is  our  profit,  gentlemen,  and 
you  get  one  profit-sharing  bonus.  And,  further- 
more, each  of  the  first  fifteen  purchasers  who 
will  pay  the  sum  of  one-fifty  will  receive  not  one, 
but  three  eight-per-cent.,  accumulative,  preferred 
bonuses." 

"  Bonus  for  what? "  said  an  excited  voice. 

"Twenty-five  per  cent,  of  the  net  profits," 
cried  Macnooder,  thumping  the  table,  "will  be 
set  aside  for  pro-rata  distribution.  The  device 
itself  remains  for  three  days  a  secret,  until  the 
completion  of  the  patents.  Orders  from  the 
model  set  up  and  installed  in  twenty-four  hours 
now  acceptable,  cash  down.  No  crowding  there, 
first  fifteen  get  three  bonuses — one  at  a  time; 
[191] 


THE    VARMINT 

keep  back  there — no  crowding,  no  pushing — no 
pushing,  boys.  Here,  stop!  Owing  to  the  ex- 
traordinary demand,  have  I  the  advisory  board's 
consent  to  give  every  purchaser  present  who 
pays  one-fifty  three  bonuses?  I  have?  Let  her 
go !  Mr.  Finnegan,  take  down  the  names.  Cash, 
right  over  here !  " 

"  I  don't  like  this  idea  of  bonuses/'  said  Fin- 
negan, when  the  rooms  had  returned  to  their 
quiet  again. 

"Twenty-five  per  cent.,  Doc!"  said  the  Ten- 
nessee Shad  reproachfully. 

"  Why,  you  chump,"  said  Macnooder  proudly, 
"that's  what's  called  the  profit-sharing  system. 
It  keeps  'em  quiet,  and  it  also  keeps  'em  from 
going  out  and  giving  the  game  away.  Mark 
my  words." 

"But  twenty-five  per  cent.,"  said  the  Tennes- 
see Shad,  shaking  his  head. 

"  Of  the  profits — net  profits,"  said  Macnooder. 
"  There's  a  way  to  get  around  that.  I'll  show 
you  later." 

"We  must  get  to  work  and  round  up  some 
alarm  clocks,"  said  Stover. 

"  I've  already  thought  of  that,"  said  Doc,  as 
he  took  his  leave.  "Don't  worry  about  that. 
Now  I'll  canvas  the  Dickinson." 

"A  slight  feeling  of  uneasiness,"  said  the 
Tennessee  Shad  solemnly,  when  Macnooder  had 


THE   VAKMINT 

departed — "a  slight  feeling  of  uneasiness  is 
stealing  over  me,  as  the  poet  says." 

"  Let's  have  a  look  at  the  articles  of  incor- 
poration," said  Stover,  who  sat  down  with  Den- 
nis to  study  them. 

"We're  the  advisory  board,"  said  Dennis 
stoutly. 

"  He's  got!  fifty-one  per  cent,  of  the  stock, 
though,"  said  Dink. 

"  But  we've  got  forty -nine !  " 

The  Tennessee  Shad,  who  had  not  risen  from 
his  chair  as  it  involved  extraordinary  exertion, 
was  heard  repeating  in  a  lonely  sort  of  way  to 
himself : 

"  A  slight  feeling  of  uneasiness." 

By  the  next  nightfall  every  room  in  the  Ken- 
nedy was  equipped  with  a  Complete  Sleep  Pro- 
longer.  Their  reception  was  exactly  as  Mac- 
nooder  had  foreseen.  At  first  a  roar  went  up 
as  soon  as  the  simplicity  of  the  device  was  un- 
earthed, but  the  thought  of  the  precious  bonuses 
soon  quelled  the  revolt. 

Besides,  there  was  no  doubt  of  the  great 
humanizing  effects  of  the  invention,  and  the  de- 
mand that  it  would  awaken  throughout  the 
whole  school. 

But  an  obstacle  arose  to  even  the  deep-laid 
plans  of  Macnooder  himself.  As  the  Third  Tri- 
umvirate Manufacturing  Company  had  bought 
[193] 


THE   VARMINT 

its  stock  from  the  Eureka  Purchasing  Com- 
pany— which  had  cornered  the  alarm-clock  mar- 
ket— it  followed  that  the  alarm  clocks  were  dis- 
tinctly second  rate. 

The  consequence  was  that,  though  all  were  set 
for  half-past  seven,  the  first  gun  went  off  at 
about  quarter-past  two  in  the  morning,  bring- 
ing Mr.  Bundy,  the  assistant  house  master,  to 
the  middle  of  the  floor  in  one  terrified  bound, 
aoid  starting  a  giggle  that  ran  the  darkened 
house  like  an  epidemic. 

At  half-past  three  another  explosion  took 
place,  aggravated  this  time  by  the  fact  that,  the 
window  pulleys  being  worn,  the  sash  flew  up 
with  enough  force  to  shatter  most  of  the 
glass. 

At  four  o'clock,  when  three  more  went  off  in 
friendly  conjunction,  The  Roman  met  Mr.  Bundy 
in  the  hall  in  light  marching  costume,  and  made 
a  few  very  forcible  remarks  on  the  duties  of 
subordinates — the  same  being  accentuated  by 
the  wailing  complaint  of  the  youngest  Roman 
which  resounded  through  the  house. 

From  then  on  the  musketry  continued  inter- 
mittently until  half-past  seven,  wrhen  such  a  salvo 
went  off  that  the  walls  of  the  house  seemed 
jarred  apart. 

The  Third  Triumvirate  went  down  to  break- 
fast with  small  appetite.  To  add  to  their  appre- 
hension, during  the  long  wakeful  reaches  of  the 
[  194  ] 


THE   VAKMINT 

night  there  had  been  borne  to  their  ears  faint 
but  unmistakable  sounds  from  the  opposite  Dick- 
inson and  the  Woodhull,  which  had  convinced 
them  that  there,  too,  the  great  invention  of  the 
age  had  been  betrayed  by  defective  supplies. 

The  Eoman  looked  haggard;  Mr.  Bundy  hag- 
gard and  aggressive. 

"Northwester  coming,"  said  the  Tennessee 
Shad  under  his  breath.  "  I  know  the  signs." 

"It's  all  Macnooder,"  said  Stover  bitterly. 

At  first  recitation  The  Koman  flunked  Stover 
on  the  review,  on  the  gerund  and  gerundive,  on 
the  use  of  hendiadys — a  most  unfair  exhibition 
of  persecution — on  several  supines,  and  re- 
quested him  to  remain  after  class. 

"Ahem,  John,"  he  said,  bringing  to  bear  the 
batteries  of  his  eyes  on  the  embattled  Dink, 
"  you  were,  I  take  it,  at  the  bottom,  so  to  speak, 
of  last  night's  outrage.  Yes?  Speak  up." 

"  May  I  ask,  sir,"  said  Dink,  very  much  ag- 
grieved— for  masters  should  confine  themselves 
to  evidence  and  not  draw  deductions — "  I  should 
like  to  know  by  what  right  you  pick  on  me?  " 

The  Roman,  knowing  thoroughly  the  subject 
under  hand,  did  not  condescend  to  argue,  but 
smiled  a  thin,  wan  smile. 

"  You  were,  John,  weren't  you?  " 

"  I  was — that  is,  I  invented  it." 

"Invented  it?"  said  The  Eoman,  sending  one 
eyebrow  toward  the  ceiling.  "  Invented  what?  " 
[195] 


THE    VARMINT 

"  The  Sleep  Prolonger,"  said  Dink  very 
proudly. 

"Prolonger! "  said  The  Roman,  with  the  jar- 
ring memories  of  the  night  upon  him.  "Ex- 
plain, sir!" 

Dink  went  minutely  over  the  detailed  con- 
struction of  the  invention  of  the  age.  By  re- 
quest, he  repeated  the  same  while  The  Roman 
followed,  tracing  a  plan  upon  his  pad.  At  the 
conclusion  Dink  waited  aggressively,  watching 
The  Roman,  who  continued  to  stare  at  his  sketch. 

"  One  question,  John,"  he  said,  without  rais- 
ing his  eyes.  "  Was  the  Kennedy  the  only  house 
thus  favored?" 

"No,  sir.  Macnooder  installed  them  in  the 
Dickinson  and  the  Woodhull." 

"Ah!"  As  though  finding  comfort  in  this 
last  statement,  The  Roman  raised  his  head  and 
said  slowly :  "  Dear  me !  I  see,  I  see  now. 
Quite  a  relief.  It  is  evident  from  your  re- 
cital, John,  that  at  least  there  was  no  concerted 
effort  to  destroy  the  property  of  the  school.  I 
withdraw  the  term  outrage,  in  so  far  as  it  may 
suggest  outrages  of  pillage  or  anarchy.  As  to 
the  continued  usefulness  of  what  you  so  felici- 
tously term  the  Sleep  Prolonger,  that  will  have 
to  be  a  subject  of  consultation  with  the  Doctor, 
but — but,  as  your  friend,  I  should  advise  you, 
for  the  present,  not  to  risk  any  further  capital 
in  the  venture.  Don't  do  it,  John,  don't  do  it." 
[196] 


THE   VARMINT 

"  Tyrant !  "  said  Stover  to  himself.  Aloud  lie 
asked:  "  Is  that  all,  sir?  " 

"One  moment — one  moment,  John.  Are  you 
contemplating  any  further  inventions?" 

"  Why,  no,  sir." 

"  On  your  honor,  John?  " 

"Why,  yes,  sir." 

"Good — very  good.    You  may  go  now." 

At  noon,  by  virtue  of  an  extraordinary  order 
from  headquarters,  all  alarm  clocks  were  confis- 
cated and  ordered  to  be  surrendered. 

"It's  all  the  Old  Roman,"  said  Stover  dog- 
gedly. "  He  knew  it  was  my  invention.  He's 
got  it  in  for  me,  I  tell  you." 

"Anyhow,"  said  Finnegan,  "since  Doc 
planted  a  few  Prolongers  in  the  Dickinson  and 
the  Woodhull  we  ought  to  be  able  to  stack  up  a 
few  nice,  round  plunks." 

The  Tennessee  Shad  looked  very  thoughtful. 

At  this  moment  the  Gutter  Pup  and  P.  Lentz, 
representing  the  profit-sharing  stockholders, 
called  to  know  when  the  surplus  was  to  be  di- 
vided. 

"Macnooder  is  now  at  work  on  the  books," 
said  Dink.  "We  expect  him  over  at  any  time." 

But  when  at  eight  o'clock  that  evening  no 
word  had  been  received  from  the  president,  the 
Third  Triumvirate  held  a  meeting  and  sent  the 
Tennessee  Shad  over  to  the  Dickinson,  with  or- 
ders to  return  only  with  the  bullion,  for  which 
[197] 


THE   YARMINT 

purpose  he  was  equipped  with  a  small,  black 
satchel. 

Just  before  lights  the  Tennesse  Shad's  drag- 
ging step  was  heard  returning. 

"  I  don't  like  the  sound,"  said  Dink,  listening. 

"He  always  shuffles  his  feet,"  said  Dennis, 
clinging  to  hope. 

The  door  opened  and  the  Tennessee  Shad,  car- 
rying the  black  satchel,  solemnly  entered.  Dink 
flung  himself  on  the  bag,  wrenched  it  open  and 
let  it  drop,  exclaiming: 

"Nothing!" 

"Nothing?"  said  Dennis,  rising. 

"Nothing,"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad,  sitting 
down. 

"But  the  profits?" 

"  The  profits,"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad,  point- 
ing sarcastically  to  the  bag,  "  are  in  there." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say "  began  Dink  and 

stopped. 

"I  mean  to  say  that  the  Third  Triumvirate 
Manufacturing  Company  is  insolvent,  bankrupt, 
busted,  up  the  spout." 

"But  then,  who's  got  the  coin?" 

"Doc  Macnooder,"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad, 
"and  it's  all  legal." 

"Legal?" 

"All  legal.  It's  this  way.  Our  profits  de- 
pended upon  the  price  we  paid  for  alarm  clocks. 
[198] 


THE   VARMINT 

See?  Well,  when  Doc  Macnooder,  as  president 
of  the  Third  Triumvirate  Manufacturing  Com- 
pany looked  around  for  clocks,  he  found  that 
Doc  Macnooder,  as  president  of  the  Eureka  Pur- 
chasing Company,  had  cornered  the  market  and 
could  dictate  the  price." 

"  So  that?  "  said  Stover  indignantly. 

"  So  that  each  clock  was  charged  up  to  us  at 
a  rate  ranging  from  one  dollar  and  forty  cents 
to  one  dollar  and  fifty." 

"By  what  right?"  said  Dennis. 

"It's  what  is  called  a  subsidiary  company," 
said  the  Tennessee  Shad.  "It's  quite  popular 
nowadays." 

"But  where's  the  stock  we  subscribed?"  said 
Dennis,  thinking  of  his  Due  dollar  and  fifty 
cents.  "We  get  that  back?" 

"  No." 

"What! "  said  the  two  in  unison. 

"It's  this  way.  Owing  to  executive  interfer- 
ence, the  Third  Triumvirate  Manufacturing 
Company  is  liable  to  the  Eureka  Purchasing 
Company  for  ten  alarm:  clocks,  which  it  has  or- 
dered and  can't  use." 

"  But  then,  out  of  the  whole,  blooming  mess," 
said  Dennis,  quite  overcome,  "  where  do  I 
stand?" 

The  Tennessee  Shad  unfolded  a  paper  and 
read: 

[199] 


THE    VARMINT 

"You  owe  the  Eureka,  as  your  share  of  the 
assessment,  two  dollars  and  forty  cents." 

"  Owe ! "  said  Finnegan  with  a  scream. 

"  Just  let  him  come,"  said  Dink,  doubling  up 
his  fists.  "  Let  him  come  and  assess  us !  " 

The  three  sat  in  long  silence.  Finally  the 
Tennessee  Shad  spoke : 

"  I  am  afraid  Doc  was  sore  because  we  tried 
to  freeze  him  out  at  first.  It  was  a  mistake." 

No  one  noticed  this. 

"  Great  Willie  Keeler ! "  said  Dennis  suddenly. 
"  If  this  thing  had  been  a  success  we'd  have  been 
ruined ! " 

"But  what  right,"  said  Dink,  unwilling  to 
give  up  the  fight,  "had  he  to  pay  the  Eureka 
such  prices.  Who  authorized  him?" 

"A  vote  of  fifty-one  per  cent,  of  the  stock," 
said  the  Tennessee  Shad. 

"  But  he  never  said  anything  to  us — the  forty- 
nine  per  cent.  Has  the  minority  no  rights?  " 

"The  minority,"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad, 
speaking  beyond  his  horizon,  "  the  minority  has 
only  one  inalienable  right,  the  right  to  indorse." 

"  I'll  get  even  with  him,"  said  Dink,  after  a 
bTank  period. 

"I  suppose,"  said  Dennis  de  Brian  de  Boru 
Finnegan,  "that's  what's  called  Finance." 

And  the  Tennessee  Shad  nodded  assent: 

"Higher  Finance,  Dennis." 
[200] 


XV 

During  the  busy  October  week  Dink  found  lit- 
tle time  to  vent  the  brewing  mischief  within  him. 
The  afternoons  were  given  over  to  the  dogged 
pursuit  of  the  elusive  pigskin.  In  the  evenings 
he  resolutely  turned  his  back  on  all  midnight 
spreads  or  expeditions  to  the  protecting  shadows 
of  the  woods  to  smoke  the  abhorrent  cigarette, 
for  the  joy  of  the  risk  run.  At  nine  o'clock 
promptly  each  night  he  dove  into  bed,  wrapped 
the  covers  about  his  head  and,  leaving  the  Ten- 
nessee Shad  deep  in  the  pages  of  Dumas,  went 
soaring  off  into  lands  where  goals  are  kicked 
from  the  center  of  the  field,  winning  touchdowns 
scored  in  the  last  minute  of  play  and  bonfires 
lighted  for  his  special  honor.  He  was  only  end 
on  the  scrub,  eagerly  learning  the  game;  but 
with  the  intensity  of  his  nature  that  territory, 
which  each  afternoon  he  lined  up  to  defend,  was 
his  in  sacred  trust;  and  he  resolved  that  the 
trust  of  his  captain  should  not  be  misplaced  if 
it  lay  in  his  power  to  prevent  it. 

However,  the  busy  mind  was  not  entirely  in- 
active. With  the  memory  of  his  financial  dis- 
appointment came  the  resolve  to  square  himself 
[201] 


THE   VARMINT 

with  The  Eoman  and  turn  the  tables  on  Doc 
Ma  encoder. 

The  opportunity  to  do  the  first  came  in  an  un- 
expected way. 

One  evening  P.  Lentz  came  in  upon  them  in 
great  agitation. 

"Why,  King,"  said  Dennis,  who  was  lolling 
around,  "you're  excited,  very,  very  much  ex- 
cited!" 

"Shut  up!"  said  the  King  of  the  Kennedy, 
who  was  in  anything  but  a  good  humor.  "  It's 
the  deuce  to  pay.  I've  had  a  first  warning." 

At  this  every  one  looked  grave,  and  Dink, 
the  loyalist,  said: 

"  Oh,  King,  how  could  you !  " 

For  another  warning  meant  banishment  from 
the  football  team  and  all  the  devastation  that 
implied. 

"  That  would  just  about  end  us,"  said  Dennis. 
"Might  as  well  save  Andover  the  traveling  ex- 
penses." 

"  I  know,  I  know ! "  said  P.  Lentz  furiously. 
"  I've  had  it  all  said  to  me.  Beautifully  ex- 
pressed, too.  Question  is,  what's  to  be  done? 
It's  all  the  fault  of  old  Baranson.  He's  been 
down  on  me  ever  since  we  licked  the  Woodhull." 

"  We  must  think  of  something,"  said  the  Ten- 
nessee Shad. 

"How  about  a  doctor's  certificate?" 
[202] 


THE   VARMINT 

"Rats!" 

"We  might  get  up  a  demonstration  against 
Baranson." 

"  Lot's  of  good  that'll  do  me! " 

Various  suggestions  were  offered  and  rejected. 

"Well,  King,"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad;  at 
last,  "  I  don't  see  there's  anything  to  it  but 
you'll  have  to  buckle  down  and  study." 

"Study?"  said  P.  Lentz.  "Is  that  the  best 
you  can  produce?" 

"  It  seems  the  simplest." 

"  I  came  here  for  consolation,"  said  P.  Lentz, 
who  thereupon  departed  angrily. 

"  Still,  it'll  come  to  that,"  said  the  Tennessee 
Shad. 

"P.  Lentz  study?"  said  Finnegan  contemptu- 
ously. "  Can  a  duck  whistle?  " 

"  Then  we'll  have  to  tutor  him." 

"What  says  Dink?" 

"  Don't  bother  me,  I'm  thinking." 

"Gracious,  may  I  watch  you?" 

"  Shad,"  said  Stover,  ignoring  Dennis,  "  did 
it  ever  occur  to  you  how  unscientific  this  whole 
game  is?" 

"What  game?" 

"  Thfs  chasing  the  Latin  root,  wrestling  with 
the  unknown  equation,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing." 

"  Proceed." 

[203] 


THE    VARMINT 

"Why  are  we  smashed  up?  Because  we  are 
discouraged  all  fighting  alone,  unscientifically. 
Does  the  light  dawn?  " 

"Very  slowly,"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad. 
"  Keep  dawning." 

"I  am  thinking  of  organizing,"  said  Stover 
impressively,  "  The  Kennedy  Co-operative  Edu- 
cational Institute." 

"Aha!"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad.  "Video, 
je  voiSy  I  see.  All  third-formers  in  the  house 
meet,  divide  up  the  lesson  and  then  frater- 
nize." 

"Where  do  I  come  in?"  said  Finnegan,  who 
was  two  forms  below. 

"A  very  excellent  idea,"  said  the  Tennessee 
Shad  in  final  approval. 

"I've  a  better  one  now,"  said  Stover. 

"Why,  Dink!" 

"  It  begins  by  chucking  the  Co-operative  idea." 

"How  so?" 

"  There's  no  money  in  that,"  said  Stover. 
"We  must  give  the  courses  ourselves,  see?" 

"  Give?  "  said  the  Tennessee  Shad.  "  We  two 
shining  marks ! " 

"No,"  said  Stover  contemptuously.  "We 
hire  the  lecturers  and  collect  from  the  lectured." 

"Why,  Shad,"  said  Finnegan,  in  wide-eyed 
admiration,  *  our  boy  is  growing  up ! " 

"  He  is,  he  certainly  is.     I  love  the  idea !  " 
[204] 


THE   VARMINT 

"Why,  I  think  it's  pretty  good  myself,"  said 
Dink. 

"  It  has  only  one  error — the  lecturers." 

"  Why,  that's  the  finest  of  the  fine,"  said  Dink 
indignantly.  "  You  see  what  I  do.  Here's 
Beekstein  and  Gumbo  Binks  been  laying  around 
as  waste  material  and  the  whole  house  kicking 
because  we've  been  stuck  with  two  midnight- 
oilers.  Now  what  do  I  do?  I  utilize  them.  I 
make  them  a  credit  to  the  house,  useful  citizens." 

"  True,  most  true,"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad. 
"But  why  pay?  Never  pay  any  one  anything." 

Stover  acknowledged  the  superior  financial 
mind,  while  Finnegan  remained  silent,  his  great- 
est tribute. 

"  I  suppose  we  might  lasso  them,"  said  Stover, 
"  or  bring  them  up  in  chains." 

"That's  only  amateurish  and  besides  repre- 
hensible," said  the  Tennessee  Shad.  "No,  the 
highest  principle  in  finance,  the  real  cream  de 
la  creme,  is  to  make  others  pay  you  for  what 
you  want  them  to  do." 

Stover  slowly  assimilated  this  profound  truth. 

"  We'll  charge  twenty-five  cents  a  week  to  stu- 
dents and  we'll  make  Beekstein  and  Gumbo  dis- 
gorge half  a  plunk  each  for  letting  us  listen  to 
them." 

"  I  am  ready  to  be  convinced,"  said  Dink,  who 
still  doubted. 

[205] 


THE   VARMINT 

"  I'll  show  YOU  how  it's  done,'-  said  the  Ten- 
nessee Shad,  who,  going  to  the  door,  called  out: 
"Oh,  YOU  Beekstein!" 

"Profound,  profound  mind,"  said  Dennis  de 
Brian  de  Boru  Finnegan.  "Doc  Macnooder  is 
better  on  detail,  but  when  it  conies  to  theory  the 
Tennessee  Shad  is  the  Willie  Keeler  boy  e\ery 
time!" 

"  I've  another  idea,"  said  Stover,  "  a  way  to 
get  even  with  The  Roman,  too." 

"  What's  that?  " 

"  To  signal  the  gerund  and  the  gerundive." 

"  Magnificent  and  most  popular ! "  said  the 
Tennessee  Shad.  "  We'll  put  that  in  as  a  guar- 
anty. Who'll  signal?" 

"  I'll  signal,"  said  Stover,  claiming  the  privi- 
lege. "It's  my  right!" 

Beekstein,  who  might  be  completely  described 
as  a  pair  of  black-rimmed  spectacles  riding  an 
aquiline  nose,  now  shuffled  in  with  his  dictionary 
under  his  arm,  his  fingers  between  the  leaves  of 
a  Cicero  to  which  he  still  clung. 

"  Mr.  Hall,"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad  with  a 
flourish,  "  take  any  chair  in  the  room." 

Beekstein,  alarmed  by  such  generosity,  sat 
down  like  a  ramrod  and  cast  a  roving,  anxious 
glance  under  the  beds  and  behind  the  screen. 

"  Beekstein,"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad,  to  re- 
assure him,  "we  have  just  organized  the  Ken- 
[206] 


THE   VARMINT 

nedy  Educational  Quick  Lunch  Institute.  The 
purpose  is  fraternal,  patriotic  and  convivial. 
It  will  be  most  exclusive  and  very  secret."  He 
explained  the  working  scheme  and  then  added 
anxiously:  "Now,  Beekstein,  you  see  the  posi- 
tion of  First  Grand  Hot  Tamale  will  be  the  real 
thing.  He  will  be,  so  to  speak,  Valedictorian  of 
the  Kennedy  and  certainly  ought  to  be  elected 
secretary  of  the  house  next  year.  Now,  Beek- 
stein, what  we  got  you  here  for  is  this.  What 
do  you  think  of  Gumbo  for  the  position?  Well, 
what?" 

Beekstein,  in  his  agitation,  withdrew  his  fin- 
ger from  the  Orations  of  Cicero. 

"What's  the  matter  with  me?"  he  said  di- 
rectly.   "  Gumbo  is  only  a  second-rater." 
"He's  very  strong  in  mathematics." 
"  That's  the  only  thing  he  beats  me  on !  " 
"  Yes,  but,  Beekstein,  there  is  another  thing — 
a  delicate  subject.     I  don't  know  how  to  ap- 
proach it.    You  see,  we  don't  know  how  you're 
fixed   for  the  spondulix,"   said  the   Tennessee 
Shad,  who  knew  perfectly  well  the  other's  flour- 
ishing condition.    "You  see,  this  is  not  only  ed- 
ucational, but  a  very  select  body,  quite  a  secret 
society, — with  a  midnight  spread  now  and  then. 
Of  course  there  are  dues,  you  see.    It  would  cost 
you  a  half  a  week." 

"Is  that  all?"  said  Beekstein,  who  had  never 
[207] 


THE    VARMINT 

belonged  to  a  secret  society  in  his  life.  "  Here's 
the  first  month  down.  Right  here." 

"I  don't  know  how  far  we  are  committed  to 
Gumbo/'  said  the  Tennessee  Shad,  not  disdain- 
ing to  finger  the  two-dollar  bill.  "But  I'll  do 
everything  I  can  for  you." 

Gumbo  Binks,  being  consulted  as  to  the  quali- 
fications of  Beekstein,  fell  into  the  same  trap. 
He  was  a  monosyllabic,  oldish  little  fellow, 
whose  cheeks  had  fallen  down  and  disturbed  the 
balance  of  his  already  bald  head.  He  had  but 
one  emotion  and  one  enthusiasm,  a  professional 
jealousy  of  Beekstein,  who  was  several  points 
ahead  of  him  in  the  race  for  first  honors.  Un- 
der these  conditions  the  Tennessee  Shad  pro- 
ceeded victoriously.  Having  made  sure  of  each, 
he  next  informed  them  that,  owing  to  a  wide 
divergence  of  opinion,  a  choice  seemed  impos- 
sible. Each  should  have  two  months'  opportu- 
nity to  lecture  before  the  Quick  Lunchers  before 
a  vote  would  be  taken. 

Under  these  successful  auspices  the  Institute 
met  enthusiastically  the  following  day,  both  the 
lecturers  and  the  lectured  ignoring  the  financial 
status  of  the  others.  It  was  found  on  careful 
compilation  that,  by  close  and  respectful  atten- 
tion to  Professors  Beekstein  and  Gumbo,  twenty 
minutes  would  suffice  for  the  rendering  of  the 
Greek  and  Latin  test;  while  only  ten  minutes 
[208] 


THE   VARMINT 

extra  were  needed  to  follow  tlie  requirements  of 
mathematics. 

The  clause  in  the  constitution  which  pledged 
defiance  to  The  Roman  and  guaranteed  protec- 
tion on  the  gerund  and  gerundive  was  exceed- 
ingly popular.  The  signals  were  agreed  upon. 
Absolute  rigidity  on  Stover's  part  denounced 
the  gerund,  while  a  slight  wriggling  of  his  sensi- 
tive ears  betrayed  the  approach  of  the  abhorrent 
gerundive. 

In  his  resojve  to  destroy  forever  the  peace  of 
mind  of  The  Roman,  Dink  sat  an  extra  period 
under  Beekstein,  stalking  and  marking  down 
the  lair  of  these  enemies  of  boykind. 

On  the  following  morning  The  Roman  lost  no 
time  in  calling  up  P.  Lentz,  who,  to  his  amaze- 
ment, recited  creditably. 

"  Dear  me,"  said  The  Roman,  quite  astonished, 
"  the  day  of  miracles  is  not  over — most  astound- 
ing !  Bring  your  book  to  the  desk,  Lentz — hem ! 
Everything  proper!  Profuse  apologies,  Lentz, 
profuse  ones!  The  suspicion  is  the  compliment. 
I'm  quite  upset,  quite  so.  First  time  such  a 
thing  has  happened."  He  hesitated  for  a  mo- 
ment, debating  whether  to  allow  him  to  retire 
with  the  honors,  but  his  curiosity  proving  strong 
he  said:  "And  now,  Lentz,  third  line,  second 
word — gerund  or  gerundive?  " 

"Gerundive,  sir,"  said  P.  Lentz  promptly,  ob- 
[209] 


THE   VABMINT 

sen-ing  Stover's  ears  in  a  state  of  revolu- 
tion. 

"  Fortunate  youth !  Next  line,  third  word, 
gerund  or  gerundive?" 

"Gerund,  sir." 

"  Still  fortunate !  Once  more,  miake  your  bet, 
Lentz,  red  or  black?"  said  The  Roman,  smiling, 
believing  Lentz  was  risking  his  fortunes  on  the 
alternating  system.  "Once  more.  Sixth  line, 
first  word,  gerund  or  gerundive?" 

"Gerund,  sir." 

"Is  it  possible — is  it  possible?"  said  The 
Eoman.  "  Have  I  lived  to  see  it !  Sit  down, 
Mr.  Lentz,  sit  down." 

He  sat  silent  a  moment,  his  lips  twitching, 
his  eyebrows  alternately  jumping,  gazing  from 
the  text  to  P.  Lentz  and  back. 

Stover,  in  the  front  row,  was  radiant. 

"  Gee,  that's  a  stiff  one  for  him  to  swallow ! " 
he  said,  chuckling  inwardly.  "P.  Lentz,  of  all 
muts!" 

As  luck  would  have  it  the  next  boy  called  up, 
not  being  from  the  Kennedy,  flunked  and 
somewhat  restored  The  Roman's  equanim- 

ity. 

"  Now  he  feels  better,"  thought  Dink.  "  Wait 
till  the  next  jolt  comes,  though ! " 

"Lazelle,"  said  The  Roman. 

The  Gutter  Pup  rose,  translated  fluently  and, 
with  his  eyes  on  Dink's  admonitory  ears,  grap- 
[210] 


THE    VARMINT 

pled   with   the   gerund  and   threw   the  gerun- 
dive. 

"  Mead,"  said  The  Roman,  now  thoroughly 
alert. 

Lovely,  with  a  show  of  insouciance,  bagged 
three  gerunds  and  one  gerundive. 

The  Roman  thought  a  moment  and,  carefully 
selecting  the  experts,  sent  Beekstein,  Gumbo 
Binks,  the  Red  Dog  and  Poler  Fox  to  the  black- 
boards. Having  thus  removed  the  bird  dogs, 
The  Roman  called  up  Fatty  Harris. 

Stover,  struggling  to  maintain  his  seriousness, 
grudgingly  admired  the  professional  manner 
with  which  The  Roman  attacked  the  mystery,  the 
more  so  as  it  showed  the  wisdom  of  his  own 
planning;  for,  had  the  signals  been  left  with 
either  Beekstein  or  Gumbo,  the  plot  would  have 
been  instantly  exposed. 

As  it  was,  The  Roman,  to  his  delighted  imag- 
ination, at  each  successful  answer  seemed  to  rise 
under  an  electric  application. 

Stover  went  out  radiant,  to  receive  the  de- 
lighted congratulations  of  the  Institute  and  the 
recognition  of  those  who  were  not  in  the  secret. 

"  We've  got  him  going,"  he  said,  skipping  over 
the  campus*  arm  in  arm  with,  the  Tennessee 
Shad.  "  He's  nervous  as  a  witch !  It's  broken 
him  all  up.  He  won't  sleep  for  a  week." 

"  He'll  spot  it  to-morrow,"  said  the  Tennessee 
Shad. 

[211] 


THE   VARMINT 

"  I'll  lay  a  bet  on  it." 

The  next  day  The  Roman,  at  the  beginning  of 
the  lesson,  ordered  all  the  books  to  the  desk  and 
fruitlessly  examined  them.  Macnooder,  as 
spokesman  for  the  justly  indignant  class,  at 
once  expressed  the  pain  felt  at  this  evidence  of 
suspicion  and  demanded  an  explanation.  This 
highly  strategic  manoeuver,  which  would  have 
tripped  up  a  younger  master,  received  nothing 
but  a  grim  smile  from  The  Roman  who  waved 
them  to  their  seats  and  called  up  P.  Lentz. 

"Gerund  or  gerundive?"  he  began  directly, 
at  the  same  time  rising  and  scanning  the  front 
ranks. 

"Why,  gerund,  sir,"  said  P.  Lentz  instantly. 

"What,  again?"  said  The  Roman,  who  then 
called  upon  Stover. 

Dink  arose,  watched  with  some  trepidation  by 
the  rest;  for  being  in  the  front  row  he  could  re- 
ceive no  signal. 

"First  paragraph,  third  word,  gerund  or 
gerundive,  Stover?  " 

Dink  took  a  long  time,  shifting  a  little  as 
though  trying  to  glance  from  side  to  side,  and 
finally  named  haltingly : 

"  Gerund,  sir." 

"Next  line,  first  word,  gerund  or  gerundive? 
Look  in  front  of  you,  Stoves  Look  at  me." 

Dink  purposely  called  it  wrong,  likewise  the 
next;  thereby  completing  the  mystification  of 
[212] 


THE   VARMINT 

The  Roman,  who  now  concentrated  his  attention 
on  Macnooder  and  the  Tennessee  Shad,  as  being 
next  in  order  of  suspicion.  The  day  ended  vic- 
toriously. 

"He  won't  live  out  the  week,"  announced 
Dink.  "There  are  circles  under  his  eyes  al- 
ready." 

"  Better  quit  for  a  day  or  two,"  said  the  Ten- 
nessee Shad. 

"Never!" 

Now  the  advantage  of  Dink's  method  of  sig- 
naling was  in  its  absolute  naturalness.  For 
the  growing  boy  wiggles  his  ears  as  a  pup  tries 
his  teeth  or  a  young  goat  hardens  his  horns. 
Moreover,  as  Dink  held  to  his  plan  of  judicious 
flunking,  The  Roman's  suspicions  were  com- 
pletely diverted.  For  three  days  more  the  lover 
of  the  gerund  and  the  gerundive  sought  to  local- 
ize and  detect  the  sources  of  information  with- 
out avail. 

Finally  on  the  sixth  day  The  Roman  arrived 
with  a  briskness  that  was  at  once  noted  and 
analyzed.  P.  Lentz  was  called  and  trans- 
lated. 

"We  will  now  take  up  our  daily  recreation," 
said  The  Roman,  in  a  gentle  voice.  "  It  has  been 
a  matter  of  pleasure  to  me — not  unmixed  with  a 
little  surprise,  incredulous  surprise — to  note  the 
sudden  affection  of  certain  members  of  this  class 
for  those  elusive  forms  of  Latin  grammar  known 
[213] 


THE    VARMINT 

as  the  gerund  and  the  gerundive.  I  had  de- 
spaired, in  my  unbelief  I  had  despaired,  of  ever 
satisfactorily  impressing  their  subtle  distinctions 
on  certain,  shall  we  say  athletic,  imaginations. 
It  seems  I  was  wrong.  I  had  not  enough  faith. 
I  am  sorry.  It  is  evident  that  these  Scylla  and 
Charybdis  of  prosody  have  no  longer  any  ter- 
rors for  you,  Lentz.  Am  I  right?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  P.  Lentz  hesitatingly. 

"  So — so — no  terrors?  And  now,  Lentz,  take 
up  your  book,  take  it  up.  Direct  your  unfail- 
ing glance  at  the  first  paragraph,  page  sixty- 
two.  Is  it  there?" 

«  Yes,  sir." 

"  Pick  out  the  first  gerund  you  see." 

P.  Lentz,  beyond  the  aid  of  human  help,  gazed 
into  the  jungle  and  brought  forth  a  supine. 

"Is  it  possible,  Lentz?"  said  The  Roman. 
"  Is  it  possible?  Try  once  more,  but  don't  guess. 
Don't  guess,  Lentz ;  don't  do  it." 

P.  Lentz  closed  the  book  and  sat  down. 

"What!  A  sudden  indisposition?  Too  bad, 
Lentz,  too  bad.  Now  we'll  try  Lazelle.  Lazelle 
won't  fail.  Lazelle  has  not  failed  for  a  week." 

The  Gutter  Pup  rose  in  a  panic,  guessed  and 
fell  horribly  over  an  ordinary  participle. 

"  Quite  mysterious ! "  said  The  Roman,  him- 
self once  more.     "  Sudden  change  of  weather. 
Mead,  lend  us  the  assistance  of  your  splendid 
[214] 


THE   VARMINT 

faculties.  What?  Unable  to  rise?  Too  bad. 
Dear  me — dear  me — quite  the  feeling  of  home 
again — quite  homelike." 

The  carnage  was  terrific,  the  scythe  passed 
over  them  with  the  old-time  sweep,  laying  them 
low.  Once  maliciously,  when  Fatty  Harris  was 
on  his  feet,  The  Roman  asked: 

"Top  of  page,  fifth  word,  gerund  or  gerun- 
dive?" 

"  Gerund,"  said  Harris  instantly. 

"Ah,  pardon "  said  The  Roman,  bringing 

into  play  both  eyebrows.  "  My  mistake,  Har- 
ris, entirely  my  mistake.  Go  down  to  the  next 
paragraph  and  recognize  a  gerundive.  No? 
Sit  down — gently.  Too  bad — old  methods  must 
make  way  for  new  ideas.  Too  bad,  then  you  did 
have  one  chance  in  two  and  now,  where  in  the 
whole  wide  world  will  you  find  a  friend  to  help 
you?  Class  is  dismissed." 

"I  told  you  you  couldn't  beat  The  Roman," 
said  the  Tennessee  Shad. 

"I  made  him  change  his  system,  though," 
said  Dink  gloriously,  "  and  he  never  caught  me." 

"Well,  if  you  have,  how  are  you  going  to 
spot  the  gerund  and  the  gerundive?" 

"  I  don't  need  to;  I've  learned  'em,"  said  Dink, 
laughing. 


[215] 


XVI 

The  Kennedy  House  Educational  Quick  Lunch 
Institute  broke  up  in  wrath  a  week  later  when 
an  innocent  inquiry  of  Beekstein's  for  the  pass- 
words revealed  the  direction  of  the  club's  fi- 
nances. 

Meanwhile,  true  to  his  resolve,  Dink,  with  the 
assistance  of  Finnegan  and  the  Tennessee  Shad, 
had  started  the  fad  of  souvenir  toilet  sets; 
which,  like  all  fads,  ran  its  course  the  faster 
because  of  its  high  qualities  of  absurdity  and 
uselessness.  Dink's  intention  of  recouping  him- 
self by  selling  his  own  set  of  seven  colors  at 
a  big  advance  was  cut  short  by  a  spontaneous 
protest  to  the  Doctor  from  the  house  masters, 
whose  artistic  souls  were  stirred  to  wrath  at 
the  hideous  invasion.  The  subject  was  then  so 
successfully  treated  from  the  pulpit,  with  all  the 
power  of  sarcasm  that  it  afforded,  that  the  only 
distinct  artistic  movement  of  New  Jersey  ex- 
pired in  ridicule. 

Dink  took  this  check  severely  to  heart  and, 
of  course,  beheld  in  this  thwarting  of  his  scheme 
to  dispose  of  the  abhorrent  set  with  honor  a 
[216] 


THE    VARMINT 

fresh  demonstration  of  the  implacability  of  The 
Eoman. 

He  wandered  gloomily  from  Laloo's  and  Ap- 
pleby's  to  the  Jigger  Shop ;  where,  after  pulling 
his  hat  over  his  eyes,  folding  his  arms  incon- 
solably,  he  confided  his  desires  of  revenge  on 
Doc  Macnooder  to  the  sympathetic  ears  of  the 
guardian  of  the  Jigger. 

"Why  not  get  up  a  contest  and  offer  it  as  a 
prize?"  said  Al. 

"  Have  you  seen  it? "  said  Dink,  who  then 
did  the  subject  full  justice. 

Al  remained  very  thoughtful  for  a  long  while, 
running  back  dreamily  through  the  avenues  of 
the  past  for  some  stratagem. 

"I  remember  way  back  in  the  winter  of  '88," 
he  said  at  last,  "there  was  a  slick  coot  by  the 
name  of  Chops  Van  Dyne,  who  got  strapped  and 
hit  upon  a  scheme  for  decoying  the  shekels." 

"What  was  that?"  said  Dink  hopefully. 

"  He  got  up  a  guessing  contest  with  a  blind 
prize." 

"A  what?" 

"  A  blind  prize  all  done  up  in  tissue  paper  and 
ribbons,  and  no  one  was  to  know  what  was  in  it 
until  it  was  won.  It  certainly  was  amazing  the 
number  of  suckers  that  paid  a  quarter  to  satisfy 
their  curiosity." 

"Well,  what  was  inside?"  said  Dink  at  once. 
[217] 


THE    VARMINT 

"  There  you  are !  "  said  Al.  "  Why,  nothing, 
of  course — a  lemon,  perhaps — but  the  point  is, 
every  one  just  had  to  know." 

"  Not  a  word ! "  said  Dink,  springing  up  tri- 
umphantly. 

"Mum  as  the  grave,"  said  Al,  accepting  his 
handshake. 

Dink  went  romping  back  like  a  young  spring 
goat,  his  busy  mind  seizing  all  the  ramifications 
possible  from  the  central  theory.  He  found  the 
Tennessee  Shad  and  communicated  the  great 
idea. 

"  I  don't  like  the  guessing  part,"  said  the  Ten- 
nessee Shad. 

"  Nor  I.     We  must  get  up  a  contest." 

"A  championship." 

"  Something  devilishly  original." 

"Exactly." 

"Well,  what?" 

"  We  must  think." 

The  day  was  passed  in  fruitless  searching  but 
the  next  morning  brought  the  answer  in  the  fol- 
lowing manner :  Dink  and  the  Tennessee  Shad — 
as  the  majority  of  trained  Laurentians — were 
accustomed  to  wtallow  gloriously  in  bed  until 
the  breakfast  gong  itself.  At  the  first  crash 
they  would  spring  simultaneously  forth  and  race 
through  their  dressing  for  the  winning  of  the 
stairs.  Now  this  was  an  art  in  itself  and  many 
[218] 


THE    VARMINT 

records  were  claimed  and  disputed.  The  Ten- 
nessee Shad,  like  most  lazy  natures,  when 
aroused  was  capable  of  extraordinary  bursts  of 
speed  and  was  one  of  the  claimants  for  the 
authorized  record  of  twenty-six  and  a  fifth  sec- 
onds from  the  bed  to  the  door,  established  by  the 
famous  Hickey  Hicks  who — as  has  been  re- 
lated— had  departed  to  organize  the  industries 
of  his  country.  Of  a  consequence  Stover  was 
invariably  still  at  his  collar  button  when  the 
thin  shadow  of  the  Shad  glided  out  of  the  door. 
But  on  the  present  morning,  the  shoe  laces  of 
the  Tennessee  Shad  snapping  in  his  hand,  Dink 
reached  the  exit  a  bare  yard  in  advance.  Sud- 
denly he  stopped,  clasped  the  Tennessee  Shad 
by  the  middle  and  flung  him  toward  the  ceiling. 

"  I  have  it,"  he  cried.  "  We'll  organize  the 
dressing  championship  of  the  school ! " 

That  very  evening  a  poster  was  distributed 
among  the  houses,  thus  conceived: 

FIRST  AMATEUR  DRESSING  CHAMPION- 
SHIP OF  THE  SCHOOL 
under  the  management  of  that  well-known 

Sporting  Promoter 

MR.  DINK  STOVER 

FOR  THE  BELT  OF  THE  SCHOOL 

and 
[219] 


THE   YARMINT 

A  SEALED  MYSTERIOUS  PRIZE 

Guaranteed  to  be  Worth  Over  $3.50 

Entrance  Fee  25c      Books  Close  at  6  P.  M. 

To-morrow 

For  Conditions  and  Details  Consult 
MR.  DENNIS  DE  B.  DE  B.  FINNEGAN,  Secretary. 

While  the  announcement  was  running  like 
quicksilver  through  the  school  the  souvenir 
toilet  set  was  encased  in  cotton,  packed  in  the 
smallest  compass,  stowed  in  a  wooden  box, 
which  was  then  sewed  up  in  a  gunny  sacking. 
This  in  turn  was  wrapped  in  colored  paper,  tied 
with  bows  of  pink  ribbon  and  sealed  with  blue 
sealing  wax  stamped  with  the  crest  of  the  school 
— VIRTUS  SEMPER  VIRIDIS.  The  whole  was 
placed  on  a  table  at  the  legs  of  which  were 
grouped  stands  of  flags. 

By  noon  the  next  day  one-half  of  the  school 
had  passed  around  the  table,  measuring  the  mys- 
terious package,  touching  the  seals  with  itch- 
ing fingers  and  wanting  to  know  the  reason  for 
such  secrecy. 

"There  are  reasons,"  said  Stover,  in  response 
to  all  inquiries.  "Unusual,  mysterious,  excel- 
lent reasons.  We  ask  no  one  to  enter.  We  only 
guarantee  that  the  prize  is  worth  over  three  dol- 
lars and  fifty  cents.  No  one  is  coaxing  you. 
[220] 


THE    VARMINT 

No  one  will  miss  you.  The  entrance  list  is  al- 
ready crowded.  We  are  quite  willing  it  should 
be  closed.  We  urge  nobody !  " 

Macnooder  came  among  the  first,  scratching 
his  head  and  walking  around  the  prize  as  a  fox 
about  a  tainted  trap.  Stover,  watching  from 
the  corner  of  his  eye,  studiously  appeared  to  dis- 
courage him.  Macnooder  sniffed  the  air  once 
or  twice  in  an  alarmed  sort  of  way,  grunted  to 
himself  and  went  off  to  try  to  pump  Finnegan. 

Finally,  just  before  the  closing  of  the  entries, 
he  shambled  up  with  evident  dissatisfaction  and 
said: 

"  Here's  my  quarter.  It's  for  the  champion- 
ship, though,  and  not  on  account  of  any  hocus 
pocus  in  the  box." 

"Do  I  understand?"  said  Dink  instantly, 
"that  if  you  win  you  are  willing  to  let  the  prize 
go  to  the  second  man?" 

"What  are  you  making  out  of  this?"  said 
Doc  hungrily,  disdaining  an  answer. 

The  contest,  which  began  the  next  afternoon 
with  thirty -one  entries,  owing  to  certain  features 
unusual  to  athletic  contests,  produced  such  a 
furor  of  interest  that  the  limited  admissions  to 
the  struggle  brought  soaring  prices. 

Everything  was  conducted  on  lines  of  exact 
formality. 

Each  contestant  was  required  to  don  upper 
[221] 


THE   VARMINT 

and  lower  unmentionables,  two  socks,  two  shoes, 
which  were  to  be  completely  laced  and  tied,  a 
dickey — formed  by  a  junction  of  two  cuffs,  a 
collar  and  one  button — one  necktie,  one  pair  of 
trousers  and  one  coat.  Each  contestant  was 
required  satisfactorily  to  wash  and  dry  both 
hands  and  put  into  his  hair  a  recognizable 
part 

The  contestants  were  allowed  to  arrange  on 
the  chair  their  wearing  apparel  according  to 
their  own  theories,  were  permitted  to  fill  the 
wash  basin  with  water,  leaving  the  comb  and 
towel  on  either  side.  In  order  to  prevent  the 
formation  of  two  classes,  pajamas  were  sup- 
pressed and  each  contestant,  clothed  in  a  night- 
shirt, was  inducted  under  the  covers  and  his 
hair  carefully  disarranged. 

Time  was  taken  from  the  starting  gun  to  the 
moment  of  the  arrival  of  the  fully  clothed,  rea- 
sonably washed  and  apparently  brushed  candi- 
date at  the  door.  Each  time  was  to  be  noted 
and  the  two  lowest  scores  were  to  compete  in 
the  finals.  A  time  limit  of  forty-five  seconds 
was  imposed,  after  which  the  contestant  was 
to  be  ruled  out 

The  first  heat  began  with  the  Triumphant 
Egghead  in  the  bed  for  the  Dickinson,  Mr.  Den- 
nis de  Brian  de  Born  Finnegan  on  the  stop 
watch,  Mr.  Dink  Stover  as  master  of  ceremonies 


THE   VARMINT 

and  Mr.  Turkey  Reiter,  Mr.  Cheyenne  Baxter 
and  Mr.  Charlie  DeSoto  as  jurors. 

The  entries  were  admitted  by  all  to  be  the  pick 
of  the  school ;  while  the  champions  most  favored, 
were  the  Tennessee  Shad  for  the  Kennedy,  Doc 
Macnooder  for  the  Dickinson  and  the  White 
Mountain  Canary  for  the  Woodhull. 

A  certain  delay  took  place  on  the  third  heat 
owing  to  Susie  Satterly,  of  the  Davis  House, 
refusing  to  compete  unless  there  was  less  pub- 
licity, and  being  peremptorily  ruled  out  on  a  de- 
mand for  a  screen. 

"  The  next  on  the  program,"  said  Stover,  as 
master  of  ceremonies,  "  is  the  champion  of  the 
Dickinson,  the  celebrated  old-clothes  man,  Doc- 
tor Macnooder." 

Macnooder  gracefully  acknowledged  the  ap- 
plause which  invariably  attended  his  public  per- 
formances and  asked  leave  to  make  a  speech, 
which  was  unanimously  rejected. 

"Very  well,  gentlemen,"  said  Macnooder, 
taking  off  his  coat  and  standing  forth  in  a  sud- 
den blaze  of  rainbow  underwear.  "I  will 
simply  draw  attention  to  this  neat  little  bit  of 
color  that  I  have  the  honor  to  present  to  your 
inspection.  It  is  the  latest  thing  out  in  dainty 
fancies  and  I  stand  ready  to  fill  all  orders.  It 
is  rather  springy,  but  why  fall  when  you  can 
spring?  Don't  applaud — you'll  wake  the  baby- 
[223] 


THE    VARMINT 

It  is  light,  it  is  warm,  it  gives  a  sense  of  ex- 
hilaration to  the  skin.  It  endears  you  to  your 
friends,  and  not  even  a  Lawrenceville  suds-lady 
would  bite  a  hole  in  it " 

"  If  you  don't  get  into  bed,"  said  Dink,  "  I'll 
rule  you  out" 

Macnooder,  thus  admonished,  hastened  to  his 
post,  merely  remarking  on  the  distinction  of  his 
garters  and  impressionistic  socks  and  the  fact 
that  he  had  incurred  great  expense  to  afford  his 
schoolmates  an  equal  opportunity. 

"Are  you  ready?"  said  Turkey  Eeiter,  for 
the  indignant  jury. 

"One  moment." 

Macnooder,  in  bed,  glanced  carefully  at  the 
preparations  without,  turned  on  his  side  and 
brought  his  knees  up  under  his  chin. 

"All  ready?" 

"  Go ! " 

With  a  circular  kick,  something  like  the  flop 
of  a  whale's  tail,  Macnooder  drove  the  coveis 
from  him  and  sprang  into  the  doubled  trousers. 

A  cheer  Went  up  from  the  spectators. 

"  Gee,  what  a  dive !  " 

"Faster,  Doc!" 

"Wash  carefully!" 

"Behind  the  ears!" 

"Don't  forget  the  buttons!" 

"That's  the  boy!" 

[224] 


THE    VAKMINT 

"  Come  on,  Doc,  come  on ! " 

"Oh,  you  Dickinson!" 

"Hurray!" 

"  Time — twenty-seven  seconds  flat,"  said  Den- 
nis  de  Brian  de  Boru  Finnegan.  "  Best  yet. 
Twenty-seven  and  four-fifths  seconds,  next  on 
the  list,  made  by  the  White  Mountain  Canary 
and  the  Gutter  Pup." 

"Next  contestant,"  said  Dink,  in  sing-song, 
"is  the  champion  of  the  Eouse,  Mr.  Peanuts 
Diddle." 

But  here  a  difficulty  arose. 

"Please,  sir,"  said  the  candidate,  who  as  a 
freshman  was  visibly  embarrassed  at  the  ordeal 
before  him — "  Please,  sir,  I  don't  part  my  hair." 

Every  eye  went  to  the  pompadour,  cropped 
like  a  scrubbing  brush,  and  recognized  the  truth 
of  this  assertion. 

"Please,  sir,  I  don't  see  why  I  should  have 
to  touch  a  comb." 

A  protest  broke  forth  from  the  other  candi- 
dates. 

"Eats!" 

"  Penalize  him !  " 

"Why  part  my  hair?" 

"I  always  do  that  with  my  fingers  when  I'm 
skating  down  the  stairs." 

"Why  wash  till  afterward?" 

"  No  favoritism !  " 

[2251 


THE    VARMINT 

The  jury  retired  to  deliberate  and  announced 
amid  cheers  that  to  equalize  matters  Mr.  Pea- 
nuts Biddle  would  be  handicapped  two-fifths  of 
a  second.  The  candidate  took  this  ruling  very 
much  to  heart  and  withdrew. 

The  Tennessee  Shad,  closing  the  list  of  entries, 
slouched  up  to  the  starting-line  amid  great  ex- 
citement to  better  the  record  of  Doc  Mac- 
nooder. 

He  first  inspected  the  washstand,  filling  the 
basin  higher  than  customary  and  exchanging  the 
stiff  face  towel  for  a  soft  bath  towel,  which 
would  more  quickly  absorb  the  moisture. 

Doc  Macnooder,  who  followed  these  prepara- 
tions with  a  hostile  eye,  protested  against  this 
last  substitution,  but  was  overruled. 

The  Tennessee  Shad  then  divested  himself  of 
his  coat  and  undergarments  amid  cries  of: 

"Oh,  you  ribs!" 

"What  do  they  feed  you?" 

"  Oh,  you  wish-bones !  " 

"  Oh,  you  shad-bones ! " 

Macnooder  then  claimed  that  the  undershirt 
was  manifestly  sewed  to  the  coat  The  allega- 
tion was  investigated  and  disproved,  without  in 
the  slightest  ruffling  the  composure  of  the  Ten- 
nessee Shad,  who  continued  his  calculations 
while  making  a  toothpick  dance  through  his  lips. 
By  means  of  safety  pins,  he  next  fastened  the 
[226] 


THE   VARMINT 

back  and  one  wing  of  his  collar  to  his  coat,  so 
that  one  motion  would  clothe  his  upper  half. 

"  I  protest/'  said  Doc  Macnooder. 

"Denied,"  said  Turkey  Reiter,  as  foreman  of 
the  jury. 

The  Tennessee  Shad,  donning  the  nightshirt, 
carefully  unloosened  the  laces  of  his  low  shoes, 
drew  them  off  and  arranged  the  socks  inside  of 
them  so  as  to  economize  the  extra  movement. 

"  The  socks  aren't  his ! "  said  Macnooder. 
"They're  big  enough  for  P.  Lentz." 

"Proceed,"  said  Turkey  Reiter. 

The  Tennessee  Shad  then  unloosened  his  belt 
and  the  trousers  slipped  down  him  as  a  sailor 
down  a  greased  pole. 

Macnooder  once  more  protested  and  was 
squelched. 

The  Tennessee  Shad  arranged  the  voluminous 
trousers,  cast  a  final  glance,  placed  the  tooth- 
pick on  the  table  and  went  under  the  covers. 

"  All  ready?  "  said  Dink. 

"Wait!"  With  the  left  hand  he  clutched 
the  covers,  with  the  right  his  nightshirt,  just 
back  of  the  neck.  "  Ready  now." 

"Go!" 

With  one  motion  the  Tennessee  Shad  flung 
the  covers  from  him,  tore  off  his  nightshirt  and 
sprang  from  the  bed  like  Venus  from  the  waves. 

The  audience  burst  into  cheers : 
[227] 


THE    VAKMINT 

"Holy  Mike." 

"  Greased  lightning !  " 

"Ob,  you  Shad!" 

"Gee,  right  through  the  pants!" 

"  Suffering  Moses !  " 

"Look  at  him  stab  the  shoes!" 

"Right  into  the  coat!" 

"Go  it,  Shad!" 

"  Out  for  the  record ! " 

"  Gee,  what  a  wash ! " 

"  Come  on,  boy,  come  on ! " 

"  Now  for  the  part !  " 

"  Hurray !  " 

"Hurrah!" 

"Hurroo!" 

"Time — twenty-six  and  one-fifth  seconds," 
cried  the  shrill  voice  of  Dennis  de  Brian  de 
Boru.  "  Equalizing  the  world's  unchallenged 
professional,  amateur  and  scholastic  record 
made  by  the  late  Hickey  Hicks!  The  cham- 
pion's belt  is  now  the  Tennessee  Shad's  to  have 
and  to  hold.  According  to  the  program  the 
champion  and  Doc  Macnooder,  second-best  score, 
will  now  run  another  heat  for  the  mysterious 
sealed  prize,  guaranteed  to  be  worth  over  three 
dollars  and  fifty  cents ! " 

Macnooder,  adopting  the  Shad's  theories  of 
preparation,  made  an  extraordinary  effort  and 
brought  his  record  down  to  twenty-six  and  four- 
[228] 


THE   VAKMINT 

fifths  seconds.  The  Tennessee  Shad  then,  ac- 
cording to  the  plan  agreed  upon  with  Stover, 
purposely  broke  a  shoe-lace  and  lost  the  match. 

Dink,  in  a  speech  full  of  malice,  awarded  the 
mysterious  sealed  prize  to  Doc  Macnooder,  with 
a  request  to  open  it  at  once. 

Now,  Macnooder,  who  had  been  busy  thinking 
the  matter  over,  had  sniffed  the  pollution  in  the 
air  and,  perceiving  a  wicked  twinkle  in  the  eye 
of  Stover,  shifted  the  ground  by  carrying  off 
the  box  despite  a  storm  of  protests  to  his  room 
in  the  Dickinson,  where  strategically  proving 
his  title  to  Captain  of  Industry,  he  charged  ten 
cents  admission  to  all  who  clamored  to  see  the 
clearing  up  of  the  mystery. 

Having  thus  provided  a  substantial  consola- 
tion against  discomfiture  and  joined  twenty 
other  curiosity-seekers  to  his  own  fortunes,  he 
opened  the  box  and  beheld  the  prodigal  souve- 
nir set.  At  the  same  moment  Dink  stepped 
forward  and  presented  him  with  his  own  former 
bill  for  three  dollars  and  seventy-five  cents. 

That  night,  after  Stover  had  returned  much 
puffed  up  with  the  congratulations  of  his  school- 
mates on  the  outwitting  of  Macnooder,  the  Ten- 
nessee Shad  took  him  to  task  from  a  philosoph- 
ical point  of  view. 

"  Baron  Munchausen,  a  word." 
[229] 


THE   VAKMINT 

u  Lay  on." 

"  You  must  come  down  to  earth." 

"Wherefor?" 

You  must  occasionally,  my  boy,  just  as  a 
matter  of  safeguarding  future  ventures,  start 
in  and  scatter  a  few  truths." 

"  Pooh ! "  said  Stover,  with  the  memory  of 
cheers.  "Any  fool  can  tell  the  truth." 

"Yes,  but—  -" 

"  It's  such  a  lazy  way !  " 

«  still " 

"Enervating!" 

"But " 

"  Besides,  now  they  expect  something  more 
from  me." 

"True,"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad,  "but  don't 
you  see,  Dink,  if  you  do  tell  the  truth  no  one  will 
believe  you." 


[230] 


XVII 

Oh,  we'll  push  her  over 
Or  rip  the  cover— 

Too  bad  for  the  fellow®  that  fall! 
They  must  take  their  chances 
Of  a  bruise  or  two 

Who  follow  that  jolly  football. 

So  sang  the  group  on  the  Kennedy  steps, 
heralding  the  twilight;  and  beyond,  past  the 
Dickinson,  a  chorus  from  the  Woodhull  de- 
fiantly flung  back  the  challenge.  For  that  week 
the  Woodhull  would  clash  with  the  Kennedy  for 
the  championship  of  the  houses. 

The  football  season  was  drawing  to  a  close, 
only  the  final  game  with  Andover  remained,  a 
contest  awaited  with  small  hopes  of  victory. 
For  the  season  had  been  disastrous  for  the  'Var- 
sity; several  members  of  the  team  had  been 
caught  in  the  toils  of  the  octopus  examination 
and,  what  was  worse  among  the  members,  ill- 
feeling  existed  due  to  past  feuds. 

Stover,  in  the  long  grueling  days  of  practice, 

had  won  the  respect  of  all.    Just  how  favorable 

an  impression  he  had  made  he  did  not  himself 

suspect.     He  had  instinctive  quickness  and  no 

[231] 


THE   VARMINT 

sense  of  fear — that  was  something  that  had 
dropped  from  him  forever.  It  was  not  that  he 
had  to  conquer  the  impulse  to  flinch,  as  most 
boys  do;  it  simply  did  not  exist  with  him.  The 
sight  of  a  phalanx  of  bone  and  muscle  starting 
for  his  end  to  sweep  him  off  his  feet  roused  only 
a  sort  of  combative  rage,  the  true  joy  of  battle. 
He  loved  to  go  plunging  into  the  unbroken  front 
and  feel  the  shock  of  bodies  as  he  tried  for  the 
elusive  legs  of  Flash  Condit  or  Charley  DeSoto. 

This  utter  recklessness  was  indeed  his  chief 
fault;  he  would  rather  charge  interference  than 
fight  it  off,  waiting  for  others  to  break  it  up 
for  him  and  so  make  sure  of  his  man. 

Gradually,  however,  through  the  strenuous 
weeks,  he  learned  the  deeper  lessons  of  foot- 
ball— how  to  use  his  courage  and  the  control  of 
his  impulses. 

"It's  a  game  of  brains,  youngster,  remember 
that,"  Mr.  Ware  would  repeat  day  after  day, 
hauling  him  out  of  desperate  plunges.  "That 
did  no  good;  better  keep  on  your  feet  and  fol- 
low the  ball.  Above  all,  study  the  game." 

His  first  lesson  came  when,  at  last  being  pro- 
moted to  end  on  the  scrub,  he  found  himself 
lined  up  against  Tough  McCarty,  the  opposing 
tackle.  Stover  thought  he  saw  the  intention  at 
once. 

"Put  me  against  Tough  McCarty,  eh?"  he 
[232] 


THE    VARMINT 

said,  digging  his  nails  into  the  palms  of  his 
hands.  "  Want  to  try  out  my  nerve,  eh?  I'll 
show  'em!" 

Now  McCarty  did  not  relish  the  situation 
either;  foreseeing  as  he  did  the  long  weeks  of 
strenuous  contact  with  the  one  boy  in  the  school 
who  was  vowed  to  an  abiding  vengeance.  The 
fact  was  that  Tough  McCarty,  who  was  univer- 
sally liked  for  his  good  nature  and  sociable  in- 
clination, had  yielded  to  the  irritation  Stover's 
unceasing  enmity  had  aroused  and  had  come 
gradually  into  something  of  the  same  attitude 
of  hostility.  Also,  he  saw  in  the  captain's  as- 
signing Stover  to  his  end  a  malicious  attempt  to 
secure  amusement  at  his  expense. 

For  all  which  reasons,  when  the  scrub  first 
lined  up  against  the  'Varsity,  the  alarum  of  bat- 
tle that  rode  on  Stover's  pugnacious  front  was 
equaled  by  the  intensity  of  his  enemy's  coldly- 
calculating  glance. 

"  Here's  where  I  squash  that  fly,"  thought  Mc- 
Carty. 

"Here's  where  I  fasten  to  that  big  stuff," 
thought  Dink,  "  and  sting  him  until  the  last  day 
of  the  season ! " 

The  first  direct  clash  came  when  the  scrubs 
were  given  the  ball  and  Dink  came  in  to  aid  his 
tackle  box  McCarty  for  the  run  that  was  sig- 
naled around  their  end. 

[233] 


THE   VARMINT 

Tough  made  the  mistake  of  estimating  Stover 
simply  by  his  lack  of  weight,  without  taking  ac- 
count of  the  nervous,  dynamic  energy  which  was 
his  strength.  Consequently,  at  the  snap  of  the 
ball,  he  was  taken  by  surprise  by  the  wild  spring 
that  Stover  made  directly  at  his  throat  and, 
thrown  off  his  balance  momentarily  by  the 
frenzy  of  the  impact,  tripped  and  went  down 
under  the  triumphant  Dink,  who,  unmindful  of 
the  fact  that  the  play  had  gone  by,  remained 
proudly  fixed  on  the  chest  of  the  prostrate 
tackle. 

"  Get  off,"  said  the  muffled  voice. 

Stover,  whose  animal  instincts  were  all  those 
of  the  bulldog,  pressed  down  more  firmly. 

"Get  off  of  me,  you  little  blockhead,"  said 
McCarty  growing  furious  as  he  heard  the 
jeers  of  his  teammates  at  his  humiliating  re- 
versal. 

"  Hurry  up  there,  you  Stover ! "  cried  the  voice 
of  the  captain,  unheeded,  for  Dink  was  too 
blindly  happy  with  the  thrill  of  perfect  suprem- 
acy over  the  hated  McCarty  to  realize  the  situa- 
tion. 

"Stover!  !  I" 

At  the  shouted  command  Dink  looked  up  and 
at  last  perceived  the  play  was  over.  Reluct- 
antly he  started  to  rise,  when  a  sudden  upheaval 
of  the  infuriated  McCarty  caught  him  unawares 
[234] 


THE   VARMINT 

and  Tough's  vigorous  arm  flung  him  head  over 
heels. 

Down  went  Dink  with  a  thump  and  up  again 
with  rage  in  his  heart.  He  rushed  up  to  Me- 
Carty  as  in  the  mad  fight  under  the  willows  and 
struck  him  a  resounding  blow. 

The  next  moment  not  Tough,  but  CockrelPs 
own  mighty  hand  caught  him  by  the  collar  and 
swung  him  around. 

"Get  off  the  field !» 

"What?"  said  Dink,  astounded,  for  in  his 
ignorance  he  had  expected  complimentary  pats 
on  his  back. 

"Off  the  field!" 

Dink,  cold  in  a  minute,  quailed  under  the 
stern  eye  of  the  supreme  leader. 

"I  did  sling  him  pretty  hard,  Garry,"  said 
Tough,  taking  pity  at  the  look  that  came  into 
Dink's  eyes  at  this  rebuke. 

"Get  off!" 

Dink,  who  had  stopped  with  a  sort  of  de- 
spairing hope,  went  slowly  to  the  side-lines, 
threw  a  blanket  over  his  head  and  shoulders  and 
squatted  down  in  bitter,  utter  misery.  Another 
was  in  his  place,  plunging  at  the  tackle  that 
should  have  been  his,  racing  down  the  field 
under  punts  that  made  the  blood  leap  in  his 
exiled  body.  He  did  not  understand.  Why  had 
he  been  disgraced?  He  had  only  shown  he 
[235] 


THE   VARMINT 

wasn't  afraid — wasn't  that  why  they  had  put 
him  opposite  Tough  McCarty,  after  all? 

The  contending  lines  stopped  at  last  their 
tangled  rushes  and  straggled,  panting,  back  for 
a  short  intermission.  Dink,  waiting  under  the 
blanket,  saw  the  captain  bear  down  upon  him 
and,  shivering  like  a  dog  watching  the  approach 
of  his  punishment,  drew  the  folds  tighter  about 
him. 

"  Stover,"  said  the  dreadful  voice,  loud  enough 
so  that  every  one  could  hear,  "  you  seem  to  have 
an  idea  that  football  is  run  like  a  slaughter- 
house. The  quicker  you  get  that  out  of  your 
head  the  better.  Now,  do  you  know  why  I  fired 
you?  Do  you?" 

"  For  slugging,"  said  Dink  faintly. 

"Not  at  all.  I  fired  you  because  you  lost 
your  head;  because  you  forgot  you  were  play- 
ing football.  If  you're  only  going  into  this  to 
work  off  your  private  grudges,  then  I  don't  want 
you  around.  I'll  fire  you  off  and  keep  you  off. 
You're  here  to  play  football,  to  think  of  eleven 
men,  not  one.  You're  to  use  your  brains,  not 
your  fists.  Why,  the  first  game  you  play  in  some 
one  will  tease  you  into  slugging  him  and  the 
umpire  will  fire  you.  Then  where'll  the  team 
be?  There  are  eleven  men  in  this  game  on  your 
side  and  on  the  other.  No  matter  Tvlhat  happens 
don't  lose  your  temper,  don't  be  so  stupid,  so 
brainless — do  you  hear?" 
[236] 


THE   VARMINT 

"  Yes,  sir/'  said  Dink,  who  had  gradually  re- 
tired under  his  blanket  until  only  the  tip  of  the 
nose  showed  and  the  terror-stricken  eyes. 

"  And  don't  forget  this.  You  don't  count.  It 
isn't  the  slightest  interest  to  the  team  whether 
some  one  whales  you  or  mauls  you !  It  isn't  the 
slightest  interest  to  you,  either.  Mind  that! 
Nothing  on  earth  is  going  to  get  your  mind 
off  following  the  ball,  sizing  up  the  play, 
working  out  the  weak  points — nothing.  Brains, 
brains,  brains,  Stover!  You  told  me  you  came 
out  here  because  we  needed  some  one  to  be 
banged  around — and  I  took  you  on  your 
word,  didn't  I?  Now,  if  you're  going  out 
there  as  an  egotistical,  puffed-up,  conceited 
individual  who's  thinking  only  of  his  own  skin, 
who  isn't  willing  to  sacrifice  his  own  little, 
measly  feelings  for  the  sake  of  the  school,  who 
won't  fight  for  the  team,  but  himself " 

"  I  say,  Cap,  that's  enough,"  said  Dink  with 
difficulty;  and  immediately  retired  so  deep  that 
only  the  mute,  pleading  eyes  could  be  discerned. 

Cockrell  stopped  short,  bit  his  lip  and  said 
sternly:  "Line  up  now.  Get  in,  Stover,  and 
don't  let  me  ever  have  to  call  you  down  again. 
Tough,  see  here."  The  two  elevens  ran  out. 
The  captain  continued:  "Tough,  every  chance 
you  get  to-day  give  that  little  firebrand  a  jab, 
understand?  So  it  can't  be  seen." 

The  'Varsity  took  the  ball  and  for  five  minutes 
[237] 


THE    VARMINT 

Dink  felt  as  though  he  were  in  an  angry  sea, 
buffeted,  flung  down  and  whirled  about  by  mas- 
sive breakers.  Without  sufficient  experience  his 
weight  was  powerless  to  stop  the  interference 
that  bore  him  back.  He  tried  to  meet  it  stand- 
ing up  and  was  rolled  head  over  heels  by  the 
brawny  shoulders  of  Cheyenne  Baxter  and  Doc 
Macnooder.  Then,  angrily,  he  tried  charging 
into  the  offenses  and  was  drawn  in  and  smoth- 
ered while  the  back  went  sweeping  around  his 
unprotected  end  for  long  gains. 

Mr.  Ware  came  up  and  volunteered  sugges- 
tions : 

"If  you're  going  into  it  dive  through  them, 
push  them  apart  with  your  hands — so.  Keep 
dodging  so  that  the  back  won't  know  whether 
you're  going  around  or  through.  Keep  him 
guessing  and  follow  up  the  play  if  you  miss  the 
first  tackle." 

Under  this  coaching  Dink,  who  had  begun  to 
be  discouraged,  improved  and  when  he  did  get 
a  chance  at  his  man  he  dropped  him  with  a 
fierce,  clean  tackle,  for  this  branch  of  the  game 
he  had  mastered  with  instinctive  delight. 

"  Give  the  ball  to  the  scrubs,"  said  the  captain, 
who  was  also  coaching. 

Stover  came  in  close  to  his  tackle.  The  third 
signal  was  a  trial  at  end.  He  flung  himself  at 
McCarty,  checked  him  and,  to  his  amazement, 
[238] 


THE    VARMINT 

received  a  dig  in  the  ribs.  His  fists  clenched, 
went  back  and  then  stopped  as  remembering,  he 
drew  a  long  breath  and  walked  away,  his  eyes 
on  the  ground ;  for  the  lesson  was  a  rude  one  to 
learn. 

"  Stover,  what  are  you  doing?  "  cried  the  cap- 
tain, who  had  seen  all. 

Dink,  who  had  expected  to  be  praised,  was  be- 
wildered as  well  as  hurt. 

"What  are  you  stopping  for?  You're  think- 
ing of  McCarty  again,  aren't  you?  Do  you 
know  where  your  place  was?  Back  of  your  own 
half.  Follow  up  the  play.  If  you'd  been  there 
to  push  there'd  been  an  extra  yard.  Think 
quicker,  Stover." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Stover,  suddenly  perceiving 
the  truth.  "  You're  right,  I  wasn't  thinking." 

"  Look  here,  boy,"  said  the  captain,  laying  his 
hand  on  his  shoulders.  "  I  have  just  one  prin- 
ciple in  a  game  and  I  want  you  to  tuck  it  away 
and  never  forget  it." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Dink  reverently. 

"When  you  get  in  a  game  get  fighting  mad, 
but  get  cold  mad — play  like  a  fiend — but  keep 
cold.  Know  just  what  you're  doing  and  know 
it  all  the  time." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Dink,  who  never  for- 
got the  theory,  which  had  a  wider  application 
than  Garry  Cockrell  perhaps  suspected. 
[239] 


THE    VARMINT 

"  You  laid  it  on  pretty  strong,"  said  Mr.  Ware 
to  Cockrell,  as  they  walked  back  after  practice. 

"  I  did  it  for  several  reasons,"  said  Garry ; 
"first,  because  I  believe  the  boy  has  the  mak- 
ings of  a  great  player  in  him;  and  second,  I 
was  using  him  to  talk  to  the  team.  They're 
not  together  and  it's  going  to  be  hard  to  get 
them  together." 

"  Bad  feeling?  » 

"Yes,  several  old  grudges." 

"What  a  pity,  Garry,"  said  Mr.  Ware. 
"What  a  pity  it  is  you  can  only  have  second 
and  third  formers  under  you !  " 

"Why  so?" 

"Because  they'd  follow  you  like  mad  Der- 
vishes," said  Mr.  Ware,  thinking  of  Dink. 

Stover,  having  once  perceived  that  the  game 
was  an  intellectual  one,  learned  by  bounds. 
McCarty,  under  instructions,  tried  his  best  to 
provoke  him,  but  met  writh  the  completest  in- 
difference. Dink  found  a  new  delight  in  the 
exercise  of  his  wits,  once  the  truth  was  borne 
in  on  him  that  there  are  more  ways  of  passing 
beyond  a  windmill  than  riding  it  down.  Owing 
to  his  natural  speed  he  was  the  fastest  end  on 
the  field  to  cover  a  punt,  and  once  within  diving 
distance  of  his  man  he  almost  never  missed. 
He  learned,  too,  that  the  scientific  application 
of  his  one  hundred  and  thirty-eight  pounds, 
[240] 


THE   VARMINT 

well  timed,  was  sufficient  to  counterbalance  the 
disadvantage  in  weight.  He  never  loafed,  he 
never  let  a  play  go  by  without  being  in  it,  and 
at  retrieving  fumbles  he  was  quick  as  a  cat. 

Meanwhile  the  house  championships  had  gone 
on  until  the  Woodhull  and  the  Kennedy  emerged 
for  the  final  conflict.  The  experience  gained  in 
these  contests,  for  on  such  occasions  Stover 
played  with  his  House  team,  had  sharpened  his 
powers  of  analysis  and  given  him  a  needed  ac- 
quaintance with  the  sudden,  shifting  crises  of 
actual  play. 

Now,  the  one  darling  desire  of  Stover,  next 
to  winning  the  fair  opinion  of  his  captain,  was 
the  rout  of  the  Woodhull,  of  which  Tough  Mc- 
Carty  was  the  captain  and  his  old  acquaintances 
of  the  miserable  days  at  the  Green  were  mem- 
bers— Cheyenne  Baxter,  the  Coffee-colored 
Angel  and  Butsey  White.  This  aggregation, 
counting  as  it  did  two  members  of  the  'Varsity, 
was  strong,  but  the  Kennedy,  with  P.  Lentz, 
and  the  Waladoo  Bird  and  Pebble  Stone,  the 
Gutter  Pup,  Lovely  Mead  and  Stover,  all  of  the 
scrub,  had  a  slight  advantage. 

Dink  used  to  dream  of  mornings,  in  the  lag- 
ging hours  of  recitation,  of  the  contest  and  the 
sweet  humiliation  of  his  ancient  foes.  He 
would  play  like  a  demon,  he  would  show  them, 
Tough  McCarty  and  the  rest,  what  it  was  to 
[241] 


THE   VARMINT 

be  up  against  the  despised  Dink-  and  dreaming 
thus  he  used  to  say  to  himself,  with  suddenly 
tense  arms : 

"Gee,  I  only  wish  McCarty  would  play  back 
of  the  line  so  I  could  get  a  chance  at  him ! " 

But  on  Tuesday,  during  the  'Varsity  practice, 
suddenly  as  a  scrimmage  ended  and  sifted  open 
a  cry  went  up.  Ned  Banks,  left  end  on  the 
'Varsity,  was  seen  lying  on  the  ground  after  an 
attempt  to  rise.  They  gathered  about  him  with 
grave  faces,  while  Mr.  Ware  bent  over  him  in 
anxious  examination. 

"What  is  it?"  said  the  captain,  with  serious 
face. 

"Something  wrong  with  his  ankle;  can't  tell 
yet  just  what." 

"  I'll  play  Saturday,  Garry,"  said  Banks,  grit- 
ting his  teeth.  "I'll  be  ready  by  then.  It's 
nothing  much." 

The  subs  carried  him  off  the  field  with  dark- 
ened faces — the  last  hopes  of  victory  seemed  to 
vanish.  The  gloom  spread  thickly  through  the 
school,  even  Dink,  for  a  time,  forgot  the  ap- 
proaching hour  of  his  revenge  in  the  great  catas- 
trophe. The  next  morning  a  little  comfort  was 
given  them  in  the  report  of  Doctor  Charlie  that 
there  was  no  sprain  but  only  a  slight  wrenching, 
which,  if  all  went  well,  would  allow  him  to 
start  the  game.  But  the  consolation  was  scant. 
[242] 


THE   VARMINT 

What  chance  had  Banks  in  an  Andover  game? 
There  wpuld  have  to  be  a  shift;  but  what? 

"Turkey  Reiter  will  have  to  go  from  tackle 
to  end,"  said  Dink,  that  afternoon,  as  in  foot- 
ball togs  they  gathered  on  the  steps  before  the 
game,  "  and  put  a  sub  in  Turkey's  place." 

"Who?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  I  guess  you  don't." 

"  Might  bring  Butcher  Stevens  back  from  cen- 
ter." 

"Who'd  go  in  at  center?" 

"Fatty  Harris,  perhaps." 

"Hello — here's  Garry  Cockrell  now,"  said  P. 
Lentz.  "  He  don't  look  particular  cheerful,  does 
he?" 

The  captain,  looking  indeed  very  serious,  ar- 
rived, surveyed  the  group  and  called  Stover  out. 
Dink,  surprised,  jumped  up,  saying: 

"You  want  me,  sir?" 

"  Yes." 

Cockrell  put  his  arm  under  his  and  drew  him 
away. 

"  Stover,"  he  said, "  I've  got  bad  news  for  you." 

"For  me?" 

"Yes.  I'm  not  going  to  let  you  go  in  the 
Woodhull  game  this  afternoon." 

Stover  received  the  news  as  though  it  had 
been  the  death  of  his  entire  family,  immediate 
[243] 


THE    VARMINT 

and  distant.     His  throat  choked,  he  tried  to 
say  something  and  did  not  dare  trust  himself. 

"  I'm  sorry,  my  boy — but  we're  up  against  it, 
and  I  can't  take  any  risks  now  of  your  getting 
hurt" 

"  It  means  the  game,"  said  Dink  at  last. 

"  I'm  afraid  so." 

"  We've  no  one  to  put  in  my  place — no  one  but 
Beekstein  Hall,"  said  Stover  desperately.  "  Oh, 
please,  sir,  let  me  play;  I'll  be  awfully  careful. 
It's  only  a  House  game." 

"Humph — yes,  I  know  these  House  games. 
I'm  sorry,  but  there's  no  help  for  it." 

"But  I'm  only  a  scrub,  sir,"  said  Stover, 
pleading  hard. 

"  We're  going  to  play  you  at  end,"  said  Cock- 
rell  suddenly,  seeing  he  did  not  understand, 
"just  as  soon  as  we  have  to  take  Banks  out; 
and  Heaven  only  knows  when  that'll  be." 

Dink  was  aghast 

"  You're  not  going — you're  not  going "  he 

tried  to  speak,  and  stopped. 

"Yes,  we've  talked  it  over  and  that  seems 
best" 

«  But — Turkey  Reiter — I — I  thought  you'd 
move  him  out." 

"No,  we  don't  dare  weaken  the  middle;  it's 
bad  enough  now." 

"Oh,  but  I'm  so  light." 
[  244  ] 


THE    VARMINT 

The  captain  watched  the  terror-stricken  look 
in  his  face  and  was  puzzled. 

"What's  the  matter?  You're  not  getting 
shaky?" 

"  Oh,  no,  sir,"  said  Dink,  "  it's  not  that.  It- 
it  seems  so  awful  that  you've  got  to  put  me  in." 

"  You're  better,  my  boy,  than  you  think,"  said 
Cockrell,  smiling  a  little,  "and  you're  going  to 
be  better  than  you  know  how.  Now  you  under- 
stand why  you've  got  to  keep  on  the  side-lines 
this  afternoon.  You're  too  fragile  to  take  risks 
on." 

"Yes,  I  understand." 

"It  comes  hard,  doesn't  it?" 

"Yes,  sir,  it  does;  very  hard." 

When  the  Kennedy  and  the  Woodhull  lined 
up  for  play  an  hour  later  little  Pebble  Stone 
was  at  end  in  place  of  Stover,  who  watched  from 
his  post  as  linesman  the  contest  that  was  to  have 
been  his  opportunity.  He  heard  nothing  of  the 
buzzing  comments  behind,  of  the  cheers  or  the 
shouted  entreaties.  Gaze  fixed  and  heart  in 
throat,  he  followed  the  swaying  tide  of  battle, 
imprisoned,  powerless  to  rush  in  and  stem  the 
disheartening  advance. 

The  teams,  now  more  evenly  matched,  both 
showed  the  traces  of  tense  nerves  in  the  frequent 
fumbling  that  kept  the  ball  changing  sides  and 
prevented  a  score  during  the  first  half. 
[245] 


THE   VARMINT 

In  the  opening  of  the  second  half,  by  a  lucky 
recovery  of  a  blocked  kick,  the  Kennedy  scored 
a  touchdown,  but  failed  to  kick  the  goal,  making 
the  score  four  to  nothing.  The  Woodhull  then 
began  a  determined  assault  upon  the  Kennedy's 
weak  end.  Stover,  powerless,  beheld  little  Peb- 
ble Stone,  fighting  like  grim  death,  carried  back 
and  back  five,  ten  yards  at  a  time  as  the  Wood- 
hull  swept  up  the  field. 

"  It's  the  only  place  they  can  gain,"  he  cried 
in  his  soul  in  bitter  iteration. 

He  looked  around  and  caught  the  eye  of  Cap- 
tain Cockrell  and  sent  him  a  mute,  agonizing, 
fruitless  appeal. 

"  Kennedy's  ball,"  came  the  sharp  cry  of  Slug- 
ger Jones,  the  umpire. 

Dink  looked  up  and  felt  the  blood  come  back 
to  his  body  again — on  the  twenty-five  yard  line 
there  had  been  a  fumble  and  the  advance  was 
checked.  Twice  again  the  battered  end  of  the 
Kennedy  was  forced  back  for  what  seemed  cer- 
tain touchdowns,  only  to  be  saved  by  loose  work 
on  the  Woodhull's  part.  It  was  getting  dark 
and  the  half  was  ebbing  fast- — three  minutes 
more  to  play.  A  fourth  time  the  Woodhull  furi- 
ously attacked  the  breach,  gaining  at  every  rush 
over  the  light  opposition,  past  the  forty-yard 
line,  past  the  twenty-yard  mark  and  trium- 
phantly, in  the  last  minute  of  play,  over  the  goal 
[246] 


THE   VARMINT 

for  a  touchdown.  The  ball  had  been  downed 
well  to  the  right  of  the  goal  posts  and  the  trial 
for  goal  was  an  unusually  difficult  one.  The 
score  was  a  tie,  everything  depended  on  the  goal 
that,  through  the  dusk,  Tough  McCarty  was  care- 
fully sighting.  Dink,  heartbroken,  despairing, 
leaning  on  his  linesman's  staff,  directly  behind 
the  ball,  waited  for  the  long,  endless  moments 
to  be  over.  Then  there  was  a  sudden  move- 
ment of  McCarty's  body,  a  wild  rush  from  the 
Kennedy  and  the  ball  shot  high  in  the  air  and, 
to  Stover's  horror,  passed  barely  inside  the 
farther  goalpost. 

"  No  goal,"  said  Slugger  Jones.    "  Time  up." 

Dink  raised  his  head  in  surprise,  scarcely  cred- 
iting what  he  had  heard.  The  Woodhull  team 
were  furiously  disputing  the  decision,  encour- 
aged by  audible  comments  from  the  spectators. 
Slugger  Jones,  surrounded  by  a  contesting,  voci- 
ferous mass,  suddenly  swept  them  aside  and  be- 
gan to  take  the  vote  of  the  officials. 

"  Kiefer,  what  do  you  say?  " 

Cap  Kiefer,  referee,  shook  his  head. 

"  I'm  sorry,  Slugger,  it  was  close,  very  close, 
but  it  did  seem  a  goal  to  me." 

"Tug,  what  do  you  say?" 

"Goal,  sure,"  said  Tug  Wilson,  linesman  for 
the  Woodhull.  At  this,  jeers  and  hoots  broke 
out  from  the  Kennedy. 

[247] 


THE    VARMINT 

"  Of  course  he'll  say  that ! " 

"He's  from  the  Woodhull." 

"What  do  you  think?" 

"  Justice!" 

"  Hold  up,  hold  up,  now,"  said  Slugger  Jones, 
more  excited  than  any  one.  "  Don't  get  excited ; 
it's  up  to  your  own  man.  Dink,  was  it  a  goal 
or  no  goal?" 

Stover  suddenly  found  himself  in  a,  whirling, 
angry  mass — the  decision  of  the  game  in  his  own 
hands.  He  saw  the  faces  of  Tough  McCarty  and 
the  Coffee-colored  Angel  in  the  blank  crowd 
about  him  and  he  saw  the  sneer  on  their  faces 
as  they  waited  for  his  answer.  Then  he  saw  the 
faces  of  his  own  teammates  and  knew  what  they, 
in  their  frenzy,  expected  from  him. 

He  hesitated. 

"Goal  or  no  goal?"  cried  the  umpire,  for  the 
second  time. 

Then  suddenly,  face  to  face  with  the  hostile 
mass,  the  fighting  blood  came  to  Dink.  Some- 
thing cold  went  up  his  back.  He  looked  once 
more  above  the  riot,  to  the  shadowy  posts,  trying 
to  forget  Tough  McCarty,  and  then,  with  a  snap 
to  his  jaws,  he  answered: 

«  Goal." 


[248] 


XVIII 

Dink  returned  to  his  room  in  a  rage  against 
everything  and  every  one,  at  Slugger  Jones  for 
having  submitted  the  question,  at  Tough  Me- 
Carty  for  having  looked  as  though  he  expected 
a  lie,  and  at  himself  for  ever  having  acted  as 
linesman. 

If  it  had  not  been  the  last  days  before  the 
Andover  match  he  would  have  found  some  con- 
solation in  rushing  over  to  the  Woodhull  and 
provoking  McCarty  to  the  long-deferred  fight. 

"  He  thought  I'd  lie  out  of  it,"  he  said  furi- 
ously. "  He  did;  I  saw  it.  I'll  settle  that  with 
him,  too.  Now  I  suppose  every  one  in  this 
house'll  be  down  on  me;  but  they'd  better  be 
mighty  careful  how  they  express  it," 

For  as  he  had  left  the  field  he  had  heard  only 
too  clearly  how  the  Kennedy  eleven,  in  the  un- 
reasoning passion  of  conflict,  had  expressed  it- 
self. At  present,  through  the  open  window,  the 
sounds  of  violent  words  were  borne  up  to  him 
from  below.  He  approached  and  looked  down 
upon  the  furious  assembly. 

"Damn  me  up  and  down,  damn  me  all  you 
want,"  he  said,  doubling  up  his  fists.    "Keep 
it  up,  but  don't  come  up  to  me  with  it." 
[249] 


THE    VARMIXT 

Suddenly,  back  of  him,  the  door  opened  and 
shnt  and  Dennis  de  Brian  de  Born  Finnegan 
stood  in  the  room. 

"I  say,  Dink " 

"Get  out,"  said  Stover  furiously,  seizing  a 
pillow. 

Finnegan  precipitately  retired  and,  placing 
the  door  between  him  and  the  danger,  opened  it 
slightly  and  inserted  his  freckled  little  nose. 

"  I  say,  Dink " 

"Get  out,  I  told  you!"  The  pillow,  struck 
the  door  with  a  bang.  "  I  won't  have  any  one 
snooping  around  here !  " 

The  next  instant  Dennis,  resolved  on  martyr- 
dom, stepped  inside,  saying: 

"  I  say,  old  man,  if  it'll  do  you  any  good,  take 
it  out  on  me." 

Stover,  thus  defied,  stopped  and  said : 

"  Dennis,  I  don't  want  to  talk  about  it." 

"  All  right,"  said  Dennis,  sitting  down. 

"And  I  want  to  be  alone." 

"Correct,"  said  Dennis,  who  didn't  budge. 

They  sat  in  moody  silence,  without  lighting 
the  lamp. 

"Pretty  tough,"  said  Dennis  at  last. 

Stover's  answer  was  a  grunt. 

"  Yon  couldn't  see  it  the  way  the  umpire  did, 
could  you?" 

"No,  I  couldn't." 

[250] 


THE    VARMINT 

"Pretty  tough!" 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Dink  finally,  "  the  fellows 
are  wild." 

"  A  little — a  little  excited,"  said  Dennis  care- 
fully. "  It  was  tough — pretty  tough ! " 

"You  don't  suppose  I  wanted  that  gang  of 
muckers  to  win,  do  you?"  said  Stover. 

"I  know,"  said  Dennis  sympathetically. 

The  Tennessee  Shad  now  returned  from  the 
wars,  covered  with  mud  and  the  more  visible 
marks  of  the  combat 

"  Hello,"  he  said  gruffly. 

"Hello,"  said  Stover. 

The  Tennessee  Shad  went  wearily  to  his  cor- 
ner and  stripped  for  the  bath. 

"  Well,  say  it,"  said  Stover,  who,  in  his  agita- 
tion, had  actually  picked  up  a  textbook  and 
started  to  study.  "Jump  on  me,  why  don't 
you?" 

"I'm  not  going  to  jump  on  you,"  said  the 
Tennessee  Shad,  who  weakly  pulled  off  the  heavy 
shoes.  "  Only — well,  you  couldn't  see  it  as  the 
umpire  did,  could  you?" 

"No!" 

"What  a  day — what  an  awful  day!" 

Dennis  de  Brian  de  Boru  Finnegan,  with 
great  tact,  rose  and  hesitated : 

"  I'm  going — I — I've  got  to  get  ready  for  sup- 
per," he  said  desperately.  Then  he  went  lamely 
[251] 


THE   yARMINT 

over  to  Stover  and  held  out  his  hand :  "  I  know 
how  you  feel  old  man,  but — but — I'm  glad  you 
did  it!" 

Whereupon  he  disappeared  in  blushing  pre- 
cipitation. 

Stover  breathed  hard  and  tried  to  bring  his 
mind  to  the  printed  lesson.  The  Tennessee 
Shad,  sighing  audibly,  continued  his  ablutions, 
dressed  and  sat  down. 

«  Dink." 

"What?" 

«  Why  did  you  do  it?  » 

Then  Stover,  flinging  down  his  book  with  an 
access  of  rage,  cried  out : 

"Why?  Because  you  all,  every  damn  one  of 
you,  expected  me  to  lie!" 

•  •  •  •  • 

The  next  day  Stover,  who  had  firmly  made  up 
his  mind  to  a  sort  of  modified  ostracism,  was 
amazed  to  find  that  over  night  he  had  become  a 
hero.  By  the  next  morning  the  passion  and  the 
bitterness  of  the  struggle  having  died  away,  the 
house  looked  at  the  matter  in  a  calmer  mood 
and  one  by  one  came  to  him  and  gripped  his 
hand  with  halting,  blurted  words,  of  apology 
or  explanation. 

Utterly  unprepared  for  this  development,  Sto- 
ver all  at  once  realized  that  he  had  won  what 
neither  courage  nor  wit  had  been  able  to  bring 
him,  the  something  he  had  always  longed  for 
[252] 


THE    VARMINT 

without  being  quite  able  to  name  it — the  respect 
of  his  fellows.  He  felt  it  in  the  looks  that  fol- 
lowed him  as  he  went  over  to  chapel,  in  the 
nodded  recognition  of  Fifth  Formers,  who  had 
never  before  noticed  him,  in  The  Roman  himself, 
who  flunked  him  without  satire  or  aggravation. 
And  not  yet  knowing  himself,  his  impulses  or 
the  strange  things  that  lay  dormant  beneath 
the  surface  of  his  everyday  life,  Stover  was  a 
little  ashamed,  as  though  he  did  not  deserve  it 
all. 

That  afternoon  as  Dink  was  donning  his  foot- 
ball togs,  preparing  for  practice,  a  knock  came 
at  the  door  which  opened  on  a  very  much  em- 
barrassed delegation  from  the  Woodhull — the 
Coffee-colored  Angel,  Cheyenne  Baxter  and 
Tough  McCarty. 

"I  say,  is  that  you,  Dink?"  said  the  Coffee- 
colored  Angel. 

"It  is,"  said  Stover,  with  as  much  dignity 
as  the  state  of  his  wardrobe  would  permit. 

"I  say,  we've  come  over  from  the  Woodhull, 
you  know,"  continued  the  Coffee-colored  Angel, 
who  stopped  after  this  bit  of  illuminating  news. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want?  " 

"I  say,  that's  not  just  it;  we're  sent  by  the 
Woodhull  I  meant  to  say,  and  we  want  to  say, 
we  want  you  to  know — how  white  we  think  it 
was  of  you !  " 

"  Old  man,"  said  Cheyenne  Baxter,  "  we  want 
[253] 


THE   ;VARMINT 

to  thank  you.    What  we  want  to  tell  you  is  how 
white  we  think  it  was  of  you." 

"  You  needn't  thank  me,"  said  Stover  gruffly, 
pulling  his  leg  through  the  football  trousers. 
"I  didn't  want  to  do  it." 

The  delegation  stood  confused,  wondering  how 
to  end  the  painful  scene. 

"It  was  awful  white!"  said  the  Coffee-col- 
ored Angel,  tying  knots  in  his  sweater. 

"  It  certainly  was,"  said  Cheyenne. 

As  this  brought  them  no  further  along  the 
Coffee-colored  Angel  exclaimed  in  alarm: 

"I  say,  Dink,  will  you  shake  hands?" 

Stover  gravely  extended  his  right. 

Cheyenne  next  clung  to  it,  blurting  out: 

"  Say,  Dink,  I  wish  I  could  make  you  under- 
stand— just — just  how  white  we  think  it  was !  " 

The  two  rushed  away  leaving  Tough  McCarty 
to  have  his  say.  Both  stood  awkwardly,  fright- 
ened before  the  possibility  of  a  display  of  senti- 
ment, 

"  Look  here,"  said  Tough  firmly,  and  then 
stopped,  drew  a  long  breath  and  continued: 
"  Say,  you  and  I  have  sort  of  formed  up  a  sort 
of  vendetta  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  haven't 
we?" 

"  We  have." 

"  Now,  I'm  not  going  to  call  that  off.    I  don't 
suppose  you'd  want  it,  either." 
[254] 


THE   VARMINT 

"No,  I  wouldn't!" 

"We've  got  to  have  a  good,  old,  slam-bang 
fight  sooner  or  later  and  then,  perhaps,  it'll  be 
different.  I'm  not  coming  around  asking  you 
to  be  friends,  or  anything  like  that  sort  of  rot, 
you  know^  but  what  I  want  you  to  know  is 
this — is  this — what  I  want  you  to  understand 
is  just  how  darned  white  that  was  of  you ! " 

"All  right,"  said  Stover  frigidly,  because  he 
was  tremendously  moved  and  in  terror  of  show- 
ing it. 

"  That's  not  what  I  wanted  to  say,"  said 
Tough,  frowning  terrifically  and  kicking  the 
floor.  "  I  mean — I  say,  you  know  what  I  mean, 
don't  you?" 

"  All  right,"  said  Stover  gruffly. 

"And  I  say,"  said  Tough,  remembering  only 
one  line  of  all  he  had  come  prepared  to  say, 
"if  you'll  let  me,  Stover,  I  should  consider  it 
an  honor  to  shake  your  hand." 

Dink  gave  his  hand,  trembling  a  little. 

"  Of  course  you  understand,"  said  Tough  who 
thought  he  comprehended  Stover's  silence,  "  of 
course  we  fight  it  out  some  day." 

"All  right,"  said  Stover  gruffly. 

Tough  McCarty  went  away.    Dink,  left  alone, 

clad  in  his  voluminous  football   trousers,   sat 

staring  at  the  door,  clasping  his  hands  tensely 

between  his  knees,  and  something  inside  of  him 

[255] 


THE    VARMINT 

welled  up,  dangerously  threatening  his  eyes — 
something  feminine,  to  be  choked  instantly 
down. 

He  rose  angrily,  flung  back  his  hair  and  filled 
his  lungs.  Then  he  stopped. 

"  What  the  deuce  are  they  all  making  such 
a  fuss  for?"  he  said.  "I  only  told  the  truth." 

He  struggled  into  his  jersey,  still  trying  to 
answer  the  problem.  In  his  abstraction  he 
drew  a  neat  part  in  his  hair  before  perceiving 
the  faux  pas,  he  hurriedly  obliterated  the  effete 
mark. 

"  I  guess,"  he  said,  standing  at  the  window 
still  pondering  over  the  new  attitude  toward 
himself —  "  I  guess,  after  all,  I  don't  know  it  all. 
Tough  McCarty — well,  I'll  be  damned!" 

Saturday  came  all  too  soon  and  with  it  the 
arrival  of  the  stocky  Andover  eleven.  Dink 
dressed  and  went  slowly  across  the  campus — 
every  step  seemed  an  effort.  Everywhere  was 
an  air  of  seriousness  and  apprehension,  strangely 
contrasted  to  the  gay  ferment  that  usually  an- 
nounced a  big  game.  He  felt  a  hundred  eyes 
on  him  as  he  went  and  knew  what  was  in  every 
one's  mind.  What  would  happen  when  Ned 
Banks  would  have  to  retire  and  he,  little  Dink 
Stover,  weighing  one  hundred  and  thirty-eight, 
would  have  to  go  forth  to  stand  at  the  end  of 
the  line.  And  because  Stover  had  learned  the 
[256] 


THE   VARMINT 

lesson  of  football,  the  sacrifice  for  an  idea,  he 
too  felt  not  fear  but  a  sort  of  despair  that  the 
hopes  of  the  great  school  would  have  to  rest 
upon  him,  little  Dink  Stover,  who  weighed  only 
one  hundred  and  thirty-eight  pounds. 

He  went  quietly  to  the  Upper,  his  eyes  on 
the  ground  like  a  guilty  man,  picking  his  way 
through  the  crowds  of  Fifth  Formers,  who 
watched  him  pass  with  critical  looks,  and  up  the 
heavy  stairs  to  Garry  CockrelPs  room,  where 
the  team  sat  quietly  listening  to  the  final  in- 
structions. He  took  his  seat  silently  in  an  ob- 
scure corner,  studying  the  stern  faces  about  him, 
hearing  nothing  of  Mr.  Ware's  staccato  periods, 
his  eyes  irresistibly  drawn  to  his  captain,  won- 
dering how  suddenly  older  he  looked  and  grave. 

By  his  side  Ned  Banks  was  listening  stolidly 
and  Charlie  DeSoto,  twisting  a  paper-weight  in 
his  nervous  fingers,  fidgeting  on  his  chair  with 
the  longing  for  the  fray. 

"  That's  all,"  said  the  low  voice  of  Garry  Cock- 
rell.  "You  know  what  you  have  to  do.  Go 
down  to  Charlie's  room;  I  want  a  few  words 
with  Stover." 

They  went  sternly  and  quickly,  Mr.  Ware  with 
them.  Dink  was  alone,  standing  stiff  and 
straight,  his  heart  thumping  violently,  waiting 
for  his  captain  to  speak. 

"How  do  you  feel?" 

[257] 


THE   VARMINT 

"I'm  ready,  sir." 

"  I  don't  know,  when  you'll  get  in  the  game — 
probably  before  the  first  half  is  over,"  said  Cock- 
rell  slowly.  "We're  going  to  put  up  to  you  a 
pretty  hard  proposition,  youngster."  He  came 
nearer,  laying  his  hand  on  Stover's  shoulder. 
"I'm  not  going  to  talk  nerve  to  you,  young 
bulldog,  I  don't  need  to.  I've  watched  you  and 
I  know  the  stuff  that's  in  you." 

"  Thank  you,  sir." 

"Not  but  what  you'll  need  it — more  than 
you've  ever  needed  it  before.  You've  no  right 
in  this  game." 

"  I  know  it,  sir." 

"  Tough  McCarty  won't  be  able  to  help  you 
out  much.  He's  got  the  toughest  man  in  the 
line.  Everything's  coming  at  you,  my  boy,  and 
you've  got  to  stand  it  off,  somehow.  Now,  lis- 
ten once  more.  It's  a  game  for  the  long  head, 
for  the  cool  head.  You've  got  to  think  quicker, 
you've  got  to  out-think  every  man  on  the  field 
and  you  can  do  it.  And  remember  this:  No 
matter  what  happens  never  let  up — get  your 
man  back  of  the  line  if  you  can,  get  him  twenty- 
five  yards  beyond  you,  get  him  on  the  one-yard 
line, — but  get  him ! " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"And  now  one  thing  more.  There's  all  sorts 
of  ways  you  can  play  the  game.  You  can  charge 
[258] 


THE   VAKMINT 

in  like  a  bull  and  kill  yourself  off  in  ten  minutes, 
but  that  won't  do.  You  can  go  in  and  make 
grandstand  plays  and  get  carried  off  the  field, 
but  that  won't  do.  My  boy,  you've  got  to  last 
out  the  game." 

"  I  see,  sir." 

"Remember  there's  a  bigger  thing  than  your- 
self you're  fighting  for,  Stover — it's  the  school, 
the  old  school.  Now,  when  you're  on  the  side- 
lines don't  lose  any  time;  watch  your  men,  find 
out  their  tricks,  see  if  they  look  up  or  change 
their  footing  when  they  start  for  an  end  run. 
Everything  is  going  to  count.  Now,  come  on." 

They  joined  the  eleven  below  and  presently, 
in  a  compact  body,  went  out  and  through  Me- 
morial and  the  chapel,  where  suddenly  the  field 
appeared  and  a  great  roar  went  up  from  the 
school. 

"All  ready,"  said  the  captain. 

They  broke  into  a  trot  and  swept  up  to  the 
cheering  mass.  Dink  remembered  seeing  the 
Tennessee  Shad,  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  frantically 
leading  the  school  and  thinking  how  funny  he 
looked.  Then  some  one  pulled  a  blanket  over 
him  and  he  was  camped  among  the  substitutes, 
peering  out  at  the  gridiron  where  already  the 
two  elevens  were  sweeping  back  and  forth  in 
vigorous  signal  drill. 

He  looked  eagerly  at  the  Andover  eleven. 
[259] 


THE    VARMINT 

They  were  big,  rangy  fellows  and  their  team 
worked  with  a  precision  and  machine-like  rush 
that  the  red  and  black  team  did  not  have. 

"  Trouble  with  us  is,"  said  the  voice  of  Fatty 
Harris,  at  his  elbow,  "our  team's  never  gotten 
together.  The  fellows  would  rather  slug  each 
other  than  the  enemy." 

"  Gee,  that  fellow  at  tackle  is  a  monster,"  said 
Dink,  picking  out  McCarty's  opponent. 

"Look  at  Turkey  Reiter  and  the  Waladoo 
Bird,"  continued  Fatty  Harris.  "  Bad  blood ! 
And  there's  Tough  McCarty  and  King  Lentz. 
We're  not  together,  I  tell  you!  We're  hanging 
apart ! " 

"Lord,  will  they  ever  begin!"  said  Dink, 
blowing  on  his  hands  that  had  suddenly  gone 
limp  and  clammy. 

"We've  won  the  toss,"  said  another  voice. 
"  There's  a  big  wind,  we'll  take  sides." 

"Andover's  kick-off,"  said  Fatty  Harris. 

Stover  sunk  his  head  in  his  blanket,  waiting 
for  the  awful  moment  to  end.  Then  a  whistle 
piped  and  he  raised  his  head  again.  The  ball 
had  landed  short,  into  the  arms  of  Butcher 
Stevens,  who  plunged  ahead  for  a  slight 
gain  and  went  down  under  a  shock  of  blue  jer- 
seys. 

Stover  felt  the  warm  blood  return,  the  sink- 
ing feeling  in  the  pit  of  his  stomach  left  him, 
[260] 


THE   VAEMINT 

he  felt,  amazed,  a  great  calm  settling  over  him, 
as  though  he  had  jumped  from  out  his  own  body. 

"  If  Flash  Condit  can  once  get  loose,"  he  said 
quietly,  "  he'll  score.  They  ought  to  try  a  dash 
through  tackle  before  the  others  warm  up. 
Good!" 

As  if  in  obedience  to  his  thought  Flash  Con- 
dit came  rushing  through  the  line,  between  end 
and  tackle,  but  the  Andover  left  halfback,  who 
was  alert,  caught  him  and  brought  him  to  the 
ground  after  a  gain  of  ten  yards. 

"Pretty  fast,  that  chap,"  thought  Dink. 
"Too  bad,  Flash  was  almost  clear." 

"Who  tackled  him?"  asked  Fatty  Harris. 

"  Goodhue,"  came  the  answer  from  somewhere. 
"They  say  he  runs  the  hundred  in  ten  and  a 
fifth." 

The  next  try  was  not  so  fortunate,  the  blue 
line  charged  quicker  and  stopped  Cheyenne  Bax- 
ter without  a  gain.  Charlie  DeSoto  tried  a 
quarter-back  run  and  some  one  broke  through 
between  the  Waladoo  Bird  and  Turkey  Reiter. 

"  Not  together — not  together,"  said  the  dismal 
voice  of  Fatty  Harris. 

The  signal  was  given  for  a  punt  and  the  ball 
lifted  in  the  air  went  soaring  down  the  field  on 
the  force  of  the  wind.  It  was  too  long  a  punt 
for  the  ends  to  cover,  and  the  Andover  back 
with  a  good  start  came  twisting  through  the 
[261] 


THE    VARMINT 

territory  of  Ned  Banks  who  had  been  blocked 
off  by  his  opponent. 

"Watch  that  Andover  end,  Stover,"  said  Mr. 
Ware.  "Study  out  his  methods." 

"All  right,  sir,"  said  Dink,  who  had  watched 
no  one  else. 

He  waited  breathless  for  the  first  shock  of  the 
Andover  attack.  It  came  with  a  rush,  compact 
and  solid,  and  swept  back  the  Lawrenceville  left 
side  for  a  good  eight  yards. 

"  Good-by ! "  said  Harris  in  a  whisper. 

Dink  began  to  whistle,  moving  down  the  field, 
watching  the  backs.  Another  machine-like  ad- 
vance and  another  big  gain  succeeded. 

"  They'll  wake  up,"  said  Dink  solemnly  to  him- 
self. "  They'll  stop  'em  in  a  minute." 

But  they  did  not  stop.  Rush  by  rush,  irre- 
sistibly the  blue  left  their  own  territory  and 
passed  the  forty-five  yard  line  of  Lawrenceville. 
Then  a  fumble  occurred  and  the  ball  went  again 
with  the  gale  far  out  of  danger,  over  the  heads 
of  the  Andover  backs  who  had  misjudged  its 
treacherous  course. 

"  Lucky  we've  got  the  wind,"  said  Dink,  calm 
amid  the  roaring  cheers  about  him.  "  Gee,  that 
Andover  attack's  going  to  be  hard  to  stop. 
Banks  is  beginning  to  limp." 

The  blue,  after  a  few  quick  advances,  formed 
and  swept  out  toward  Garry  Cockrell's  end. 
[262] 


THE    VARMINT 

"  Three  yards  lost,"  said  Dink  grimly.  "  They 
won't  try  him  often.  Funny  they're  not  onto 
Banks.  Lord,  how  they  can  gain  through  the 
center  of  the  line.  First  down  again."  Sub- 
stitute and  coach,  the  frantic  school,  alumni 
over  from  Princeton,  kept  up  a  constant  storm 
of  shouts  and  entreaties : 

"  Oh,  get  together !  " 

"  Throw  'em  back !  " 

"Hold  'em!" 

"  First  down  again !  " 

"  Hold  7em,  Lawrenceville !  " 

"  Don't  let  them  carry  it  seventy  yards ! " 

"Get  the  jump!" 

"There  they  go  again!" 

"  Ten  yards  around  Banks ! " 

Stover  alone,  squatting  opposite  the  line  of 
play,  moving  as  it  moved,  coldly  critical,  studied 
each  individuality. 

"  Funny  nervous  little  tricks  that  Goodhue's 
got — blows  on  his  hands — does  that  mean  he 
takes  the  ball?  No,  all  a  bluff.  What's  he  do 
when  he  does  take  it?  Quiet  and  looks  at  the 
ground.  When  he  doesn't  take  it  he  tries  to  pre- 
tend he  does.  I'll  tuck  that  away.  He's  my 
man.  Seems  to  switch  in  just  as  the  interfer- 
ence strikes  the  end  about  ten  feet  beyond  tackle, 
running  low — Banks  is  playing  too  high ;  better, 
perhaps,  to  run  in  on  'em  now  and  then  before 
[263] 


THE    VARMINT 

they  get  started.  There's  going  to  be  trouble 
there  in  a  minute.  The  fellows  aren't  up  on 
their  toes  yet — what  is  the  matter,  anyhow? 
Tough's  getting  boxed  right  along,  he  ought  to 
play  out  further,  I  should  think.  Hello,  some 
one  fumbled  again.  Who's  got  it?  Looks  like 
Garry.  No,  they  recovered  it  themselves — no, 
they  didn't.  Lord,  what  a  butter-fingered  lot — 
why  doesn't  he  get  it?  He  has — Charlie  De- 
Soto — clear  field — can  he  make  it? — he  ought  to 
— where's  that  Goodhue? — looks  like  a  safe  lead; 
he'll  make  the  twenty-yard  line  at  least — yes, 
fully  that,  if  he  doesn't  stumble — there's  that 
Goodhue  now — some  one  ought  to  block  him 
off,  good  work — that's  it — that  makes  the  touch- 
down— lucky — very  lucky !  " 

Some  one  hit  him  a  terrific  clap  on  the  shoul- 
der. He  looked  up  in  surprise  to  behold  Fatty 
Harris  dancing  about  like  a  crazed  man.  The  air 
seemed  all  arms,  hats  were  rising  like  startled 
coveys  of  birds.  Some  one  flung  his  arms 
around  him  and  hugged  him.  He  flung  him  off 
almost  indignantly.  What  were  they  thinking 
of — that  was  only  one  touchdown — four  points 
—what  was  that  against  that  blue  team  and  the 
wind  at  their  backs,  too.  One  touchdown  wasn't 
going  to  win  the  game. 

"Why  do  they  get  so  excited?"  said  Dink 
Stover  to  John  Stover,  watching  deliberately 
[264] 


THE    VARMINT 

the  ball  soaring  between  the  goalposts ;  "  6  to  0 
— they  think  it's  all  over.    Now's  the  rub." 

Mr.  Ware  passed  near  him.  He  was  quiet, 
too,  seeing  far  ahead. 

"Better  keep  warmed  up,  Stover,"  he  said. 

"Biting  his  nails,  that's  a  funny  trick  for  a 
master,"  thought  Dink.  "  He  oughtn't  to  be 
nervous.  That  doesn't  do  any  good." 

The  shouts  of  exultation  were  soon  hushed; 
with  the  advantage  of  the  wind  the  game  quickly 
assumed  a  different  complexion.  Andover  had 
found  the  weak  end  and  sent  play  after  play 
at  Banks,  driving  him  back  for  long  advances. 

"Take  off  your  sweater,"  said  Mr.  Ware. 

Dink  flung  it  off,  running  up  and  down  the 
side-lines,  springing  from  his  toes. 

"Why  don't  they  take  him  out?"  he  thought 
angrily,  with  almost  a  hatred  of  the  fellow  who 
was  fighting  it  out  in  vain.  "Can't  they  see 
it?  Ten  yards  more,  oh,  Lord!  This  ends  it." 

With  a  final  rush  the  Andover  interference 
swung  at  Banks,  brushed  him  aside  and  swept 
over  the  remaining  fifteen  yards  for  the  touch- 
down. A  minute  later  the  goal  was  kicked  and 
the  elevens  again  changed  sides.  The  sudden- 
ness with  which  the  score  had  been  tied  im- 
pressed every  one — the  school  team  seemed  to 
have  no  defense  against  the  well-massed  attacks 
of  the  opponents. 

[265] 


THE    VARMINT 

"  Holes  as  big  as  a  house,"  said  Fatty  Harris. 
"  Asleep !  They're  all  asleep !  " 

Dink,  pacing  up  and  down,  waited  the  word 
from  Mr.  Ware,  rebelling1  because  it  did  not 
come. 

Again  the  scrimmage  began,  a  short  advance 
from  the  loosely-knit  school  eleven,  a  long  punt 
with  the  wind  and  then  a  quick,  business-like 
line-up  of  the  blue  team  and  another  rush  at  the 
vulnerable  end. 

"  Ten  yards  more ;  oh,  it's  giving  it  away ! " 
said  Fatty  Harris. 

Stover  knelt  and  tried  his  shoelaces  and  ris- 
ing, tightened  his  belt. 

"  I'll  be  out  there  in  a  moment,"  he  said  to 
himself. 

Another  gain  at  Banks'  end  and  suddenly 
from  the  elevens  across  the  field  the  figure  of 
the  captain  rose  and  waved  a  signal. 

"  Go  in,  Stover,"  said  Mr.  Ware. 

He  ran  out  across  the  long  stretch  to  where 
the  players  were  moving  restlessly,  their  clothes 
flinging  out  clouds  of  steam.  Back  of  him  some- 
thing was  roaring,  cheering  for  him,  perhaps, 
hoping  against  hope. 

Then  he  was  in  the  midst  of  the  contestants, 
Garry  Cockrell's  arm  about  his  shoulders,  whis- 
pering something  in  his  ear  about  keeping  cool, 
breaking  up  the  interference  if  he  couldn't  get 
[266] 


THE    VARMINT 

his  man,  following  up  the  play.  He  went  to 
his  position,  noticing  the  sullen  expressions  of 
his  teammates,  angry  with  the  consciousness  that 
they  were  not  doing  their  best.  Then  taking 
his  stand  beyond  Tough  McCarty,  he  saw  the 
Andover  quarter  and  the  backs  turn  and  study 
him  curiously.  He  noticed  the  half-back  nearest 
him,  a  stocky,  close-cropped,  red-haired  fellow, 
with  brawny  arms  under  his  rolled-up  jersey, 
whose  duty  it  would  be  to  send  him  rolling  on 
the  first  rush. 

"All  ready?"  cried  the  voice  of  the  umpire. 
«  First  down." 

The  whistle  blew,  the  two  lines  strained  op- 
posite each  other.  Stover  knew  what  the  play 
would  be — there  was  no  question  of  that.  For- 
tunately the  last  two  rushes  had  carried  the 
play  well  over  to  his  side — the  boundary  was 
only  fifteen  yards  away.  Dink  had  thought  out 
quickly  what  he  would  do.  He  crept  in  closer 
than  an  end  usually  plays  and  at  the  snap  of 
the  ball  rushed  straight  into  the  starting  inter- 
ference before  it  could  gather  dangerous  momen- 
tum. The  back,  seeing  him  thus  drawn  in,  in- 
stinctively swerved  wide  around  his  interference, 
forced  slightly  back.  Before  he  could  turn  for- 
ward his  own  speed  and  the  necessity  of  distanc- 
ing Stover  and  Condit  drove  him  out  of  bounds 
for  a  four-yard  loss. 

[267] 


THE   VAKMINT 

"  Second  down,  nine  yards  to  go ! "  came  the 
verdict. 

"  Bather  risky  going  in  like  that,"  said  Flash 
Condit,  who  backed  up  his  side. 

"Wanted  to  force  him  out  of  bounds,"  said 
Stover. 

"Oh — look  out  for  something  between  tackle 
and  guard  now." 

"No — they'll  try  the  other  side  now  to  get  a 
clean  sweep  at  me,"  said  Stover. 

The  red-haired  halfback  disappeared  in  the 
opposite  side  and,  well  protected,  kept  his  feet 
for  five  yards. 

"  Third  down,  four  to  gain." 

"  Now  for  a  kick,"  said  Stover,  as  the  Ando- 
ver  end  came  out  opposite  him.  "  What  the 
deuce  am  I  going  to  do  to  this  coot  to  mix  him 
up.  He  looks  more  as  though  he'd  like  to  tackle 
me  than  to  get  past."  He  looked  over  and 
caught  a  glance  from  the  Andover  quarter.  "  I 
wonder.  Why  not  a  fake  kick?  They've  sized 
me  up  for  green.  I'll  play  it  carefully." 

At  the  play,  instead  of  blocking,  he  jumped 
back  and  to  one  side,  escaping  the  end  who 
dove  at  his  knees.  Then,  rushing  ahead,  he 
stalled  off  the  half  and  caught  the  fullback  with 
a  tackle  that  brought  him  to  his  feet,  rubbing 
his  side. 

"  Lawrenceville's  ball.  Time  up  for  first 
half." 

[268] 


THE    VARMINT 

Dink  had  not  thought  of  the  time.  Amazed, 
he  scrambled  to  his  feet,  half  angry  at  the  inter- 
ruption, and  following  the  team  went  over  to 
the  room  to  be  talked  to  by  the  captain  and  the 
coach. 

It  was  a  hang-dog  crowd  that  gathered  there, 
quailing  under  the  scornful  lashing  of  Garry 
Cockrell.  He  spared  no  one,  he  omitted  no 
names.  Dink,  listening,  lowered  his  eyes, 
ashamed  to  look  upon  the  face  of  the  team.  One 
or  two  cried  out: 

"  Oh,  I  say,  Garry !  » 

"  That's  too  much ! " 

"Too  much,  too  much,  is  it?"  cried  their  cap- 
tain, walking  up  and  down,  striking  the  flat  of 
his  hand  with  the  clenched  fist.  "  By  heavens, 
it's  nothing  to  what  they're  saying  of  us  out 
there.  They're  ashamed  of  us,  one  and  all! 
Listen  to  the  cheering  if  you  don't  believe  it! 
They'll  cheer  a  losing  team,  a  team  that  is  being 
driven  back  foot  by  foot.  There's  something 
glorious  in  that,  but  a  team  that  stands  up  to 
be  pushed  over,  a  team  that  lies  down  and  quits, 
a  team  that  hasn't  one  bit  of  red  fighting  blood 
in  it,  they  won't  cheer ;  they're  ashamed  of  you  I 
Now,  I'll  tell  you  what's  going  to  happen  to  you. 
You're  going  to  be  run  down  the  field  for  just 
about  four  touchdowns.  Here's  Lentz  being 
tossed  around  by  a  fellow  that  weighs  forty 
pounds  less.  Why,  he's  the  joke  of  the  game. 
[269] 


THE   VARMINT 

MeCarty  hasn't  stopped  a  play,  not  one !  Wala- 
doo's  so  easy  that  they  rest  up  walking  through 
him.  But  that's  not  the  worst,  you're  playing 
wide  apart  as  though  there  wasn't  a  man  within 
ten  miles  of  you;  not  one  of  you  is  helping  out 
the  other.  The  only  time  you've  taken  the  ball 
from  them  is  when  a  little  shaver  comes  in  and 
uses  his  head.  Now,  you're  not  going  to  win 
this  game,  but  by  the  Almighty  you're  going 
out  there  and  going  to  hold  that  Andover  team ! 
You've  got  the  wind  against  you;  you've  got 
everything  against  you;  you've  got  to  fight  on 
your  own  goal  line,  not  once,  but  twenty  times. 
But  you've  got  to  hold  'em;  you're  going  to  make 
good ;  you're  going  to  wipe  out  that  disgraceful, 
cowardly  first  half!  You're  going  out  there  to 
stand  those  fellows  off!  You're  going  to  make 
the  school  cheer  for  you  again  as  though  they 
believed  in  you,  as  though  they  were  proud  of 
you!  You're  going  to  do  a  bigger  thing  than 
beat  a  weaker  team!  You're  going  to  fight  off 
defeat  and  show  that,  if  you  can't  win,  you  can't 
be  beaten ! " 

Mr.  Ware.,  in  a  professional  way,  passed  from 
one  to  another  with  a  word  of  advice :  "  Play 
lower,  get  the  jump — don't  be  drawn  in  by  a 
fake  plunge — watch  Goodhue." 

But  Dink  heard  nothing;  he  sat  in  his  corner, 
clasping  and  unclasping  his  hands,  suffering 
[270] 


THE   VARMINT 

with  the  moments  that  separated  him  from  the 
fray.  Then  all  at  once  he  was  back  on  the  field, 
catching  the  force  of  the  wind  that  blew  the  hair 
about  his  temples,  hearing  the  half-hearted  wel- 
come that  went  up  from  the  school. 

"  Hear  that  cheer ! "  said  Garry  Cockrell  bit- 
terly. 

From  Butcher  Stevens'  boot  the  ball  went 
twisting  and  veering  down  the  field.  Stover 
went  down,  dodging  instinctively,  hardly  know- 
ing what  he  did.  Then  as  he  started  to  spring 
at  the  runner  an  interferer  from  behind  flung 
himself  on  him  and  sent  him  sprawling,  but  not 
until  one  arm  had  caught  and  checked  his 
man. 

McCarty  had  stopped  the  runner,  when  Dink 
sprang  to  his  feet,  wild  with  the  rage  of  having 
missed  his  tackle. 

"  Steady !  "  cried  the  voice  of  his  captain. 

He  lined  up  hurriedly,  seeing  red.  The  inter- 
ference started  for  him,  he  flung  himself  at  it 
blindly  and  was  buried  inder  the  body  of  the 
red-haired  half.  Powerless  to  move,  humiliat- 
ingly  held  under  the  sturdy  body,  the  passion  of 
fighting  rose  in  him  again.  He  tried  to  throw 
him  off,  doubling  up  his  fist,  waiting  until  his 
arm  was  free. 

"Why,   you're   easy,   kid,"   said    a    mocking 
voice.    "  We'll  come  again." 
[271] 


THE    VARMINT 

The  taunt  suddenly  chilled  him.  Without 
knowing  how  it  happened,  he  laughed. 

"  That's  the  last  time  you  get  me,  old  rooster," 
he  said,  in  a  voice  that  did  not  belong  to  him. 

He  glanced  back.  Andover  had  gained  fif- 
teen yards. 

"That  comes  from  losing  my  head,"  he  said 
quietly.  "That's  over." 

It  had  come,  the  cold  consciousness  of  which 
Cockrell  had  spoken,  strange  as  the  second  wind 
that  surprises  the  distressed  runner. 

"  I've  got  to  teach  that  red-haired  coot  a  les- 
son," he  said.  "  He's  a  little  too  confident.  I'll 
shake  him  up  a  bit." 

The  opportunity  came  on  the  third  play,  with 
another  attack  on  his  end.  He  ran  forward  a 
few  steps  and  stood  still,  leaning  a  little  for- 
ward, waiting  for  the  red-haired  back  who  came 
plunging  at  him.  Suddenly  Dink  dropped  to 
his  knees,  the  interferer  went  violently  over  his 
back,  something  struck  Stover  in  the  shoulder 
and  his  arms  closed  with  the  fierce  thrill  of  hold- 
ing his  man. 

"Second  down,  seven  yards  to  gain,"  came 
the  welcome  sound. 

Time  was  taken  out  for  the  red-haired  half- 
back, who  had  had  the  wind  knocked  out  of  him. 

"Now  he'll  be  more  respectful,"  said  Dink, 
and  as  soon  as  he  caught  his  eye  he  grinned. 
"  Red  hair — I'll  see  if  I  can't  get  his  temper." 
[272] 


THE   VARMINT 

Thus  checked  and  to  use  the  advantage  of  the 
wind  Andover  elected  to  kick.  The  ball  went 
twisting,  and,  changing  its  course  in  the  strength- 
ening wind,  escaped  the  clutches  of  Macnooder 
and  went  bounding  toward  the  goal  where  Char- 
lie DeSoto  saved  it  on  the  twenty-five-yard  line. 
In  an  instant  the  overwhelming  disparity  of  the 
sides  was  apparent. 

A  return  kick  at  best  could  gain  but  twenty- 
five  or  thirty  yards.  From  now  on  they  would 
be  on  the  defensive. 

Dink  came  in  to  support  his  traditional  enemy, 
Tough  McCarty.  The  quick,  nervous  voice  of 
Charlie  DeSoto  rose  in  a  shriek :  "  Now,  Law- 
renceville,  get  into  this,  7 — 52 — 3." 

Dink  swept  around  for  a  smash  on  the  oppo- 
site tackle,  head  down,  eyes  fastened  on  the 
back  before  him,  feeling  the  shock  of  resistance 
and  the  yielding  response  as  he  thrust  forward, 
pushing,  heaving  on,  until  everything  piled  up 
before  him.  Four  yards  gained. 

A  second  time  they  repeated  the  play,  making 
the  first  down. 

"  Time  to  spring  a  quick  one  through  us,"  he 
thought. 

But  again  DeSoto  elected  the  same  play. 

"  What's  he  trying  to  do? "  said  Dink.  "  Why 
don't  he  vary  it?" 

Some  one  hauled  him  out  of  the  tangled  pile. 
It  was  Tough  McCarty. 

[273] 


THE   VARMINT 

"  Say,  our  tackle's  a  stiff  one,"  he  said,  with 
his  mouth  to  Stover's  ear.  "  You  take  his 
knees;  I'll  take  him  above  this  time." 

Their  signal  came  at  last.  Dink  dove,  trying 
to  meet  the  shifting  knees  and  throw  him  off  his 
balance.  The  next  moment  a  powerful  arm 
caught  him  as  he  left  the  ground  and  swept 
him  aside. 

"Any  gain?"  he  asked  anxiously  as  he  came 
up. 

"  Only  a  yard,"  said  McCarty.  "  He  got 
through  and  smeered  the  play." 

"I  know  how  to  get  him  next  time,"  said 
Dink. 

The  play  was  repeated.  This  time  Stover 
made  a  feint  and  then  dove  successfully  after 
the  big  arm  had  swept  fruitlessly  past.  Flash 
Condit,  darting  through  the  line,  was  tackled  by 
Goodhue  and  fell  forward  for  a  gain. 

"How  much?"  said  Stover,  rising  joyfully. 

"  They're  measuring." 

The  distance  was  tried  and  found  to  be  two 
feet  short  of  the  necessary  five  yards.  The  risk 
was  too  great,  a  kick  was  signaled  and  the  ball 
was  Andover's,  just  inside  the  center  of  the 
field. 

"Now,  Lawrenceville,"  cried  the  captain, 
"show  what  you're  made  of." 

The  test  came  quickly,  a  plunge  between  Mc- 
[274] 


THE   VAKMINT 

Carty  and  Lentz  yielded  three  yards,  a  second 
four.  The  Andover  attack,  with  the  same  pre- 
cision as  before,  struck  anywhere  between  the 
tackles  and  found  holes.  Dink,  at  the  bottom 
of  almost  every  pile,  raged  at  Tough  McCarty. 

"  He's  doing  nothing,  he  isn't  fighting,"  he 
said  angrily.  "  He  does't  know  what  it  is  to 
fight.  Why  doesn't  he  break  up  that  interfer- 
ence for  me?" 

When  the  attack  struck  his  end  now  it  turned 
in,  slicing  off  tackle,  the  runner  well  screened 
by  close  interference  that  held  him  up  when 
Stover  tackled,  dragging  him  on  for  the  precious 
yards.  Three  and  four  yards  at  a  time,  the  blue 
advance  rolled  its  way  irresistibly  toward  the 
red  and  black  goal.  They  were  inside  the 
twenty-yard  line  now. 

Cockrell  was  pleading  with  them.  Little 
Charlie  DeSoto  was  running  along  the  line,  slap- 
ping their  backs,  calling  frantically  on  them  to 
throw  the  blue  back. 

And  gradually  the  line  did  stiffen,  slowly  but 
perceptibly  the  advance  was  cut  down.  Enmi- 
ties were  forgotten  with  the  shadow  of  the  goal- 
posts looming  at  their  backs.  Waladoo  and  Tur- 
key Eeiter  were  fighting  side  by  side,  calling  to 
each  other.  Tough  McCarty  was  hauling  Stover 
out  of  desperate  scrimmages,  patting  him  on  the 
back  and  calling  him  "good  old  Dink."  The 
[275] 


THE   VARMINT 

fighting  blood  that  Garry  Cockrell  had  called 
upon  was  at  last  there — the  line  had  closed  and 
fought  together. 

And  yet  they  were  borne  back  to  their  fifteen- 
yard  line,  two  yards  at  a  time,  just  losing  the 
fourth  down. 

Stover  at  end  was  trembling  like  a  blooded 
terrier,  on  edge  for  each  play,  shrieking: 

"Oh,  Tough,  get  through — you  must  get 
through!" 

He  was  playing  by  intuition  now,  no  time  to 
plan.  He  knew  just  who  had  the  ball  and  where 
it  was  going.  Out  or  in,  the  attack  was  con- 
centrating on  his  end — only  McCarty  and  he 
could  stop  it.  He  was  getting  his  man,  but  they 
were  dragging  him  on,  fighting  now  for  inches. 

"Third  down,  one  yard  to  gain ! " 

"Watch  my  end,"  he  shouted  to  Flash  Con- 
dit,  and  hurling  himself  forward  at  the  start- 
ing backs  dove  under  the  knees,  and  grabbing 
the  legs  about  him  went  down  buried  under  the 
mass  he  had  upset. 

It  seemed  hours  before  the  crushing  bodies 
were  pulled  off  and  some  one's  arm  brought  him 
to  his  feet  and  some  one  hugged  him,  shouting 
in  his  ear: 

"You  saved  it,  Dink,  you  saved  it!" 

Some  one  rushed  up  with  a  sponge  and  began 
dabbing  his  face. 

[276] 


THE   VARMINT 

"  What  the  deuce  are  they  doing  that  for?  " 
he  said  angrily. 

Then  he  noticed  that  an  arm  was  under  his 
and  he  turned  curiously  to  the  face  near  him. 
It  was  Tough  McCarty's. 

"  Whose  ball  is  it? "  he  said. 

"  Ours." 

He  looked  to  the  other  side.  Garry  Cockrell 
was  supporting  him. 

"  What's  the  matter?  "  he  said,  trying  to  draw 
his  head  away  from  the  sponge  that  was  dripping 
water  down  his  throat. 

"  Just  a  little  wind  knocked  out,  youngster — 
coming  to?  " 

"  I'm  all  right." 

He  walked  a  few  steps  alone  and  then  took 
his  place.  Things  were  in  a  daze  on  the  hori- 
zon, but  not  there  in  the  field.  Everything  else 
was  shut  out  except  his  duty  there. 

Charlie  DeSoto's  voice  rose  shrill : 

"Now,  Lawrenceville,  up  the  field  with  it. 
This  team's  just  begun  to  play.  We've  got  to- 
gether, boys.  Let  her  rip !  " 

No  longer  scattered,  but  a  unit,  all  differences 
forgot,  fighting  for  the  same  idea,  the  team  rose 
up  and  crashed  through  the  Andover  line,  every 
man  in  the  play,  ten — fifteen  yards  ahead. 

"  Again ! "  came  the  strident  cry. 

Without  a  pause  the  line  sprang  into  place, 
[277] 


THE   VARMINT 

formed  and  swept  forward.  It  was  a  privilege 
to  be  in  such  a  game,  to  feel  the  common  frenzy, 
the  awakened  glance  of  battle  that  showed  down 
the  line.  Dink,  side  by  side  with  Tough  Me- 
Carty,  thrilled  with  the  same  thrill,  plunging 
ahead  with  the  same  motion,  fighting  the  same 
fight ;  no  longer  alone  and  desperate,  but  nerved 
with  the  consciousness  of  a  partner  whose  game- 
ness  matched  his  own. 

For  thirty  yards  they  carried  the  ball  down 
the  field,  before  the  stronger  Andover  team, 
thrown  off  its  feet  by  the  unexpected  frenzy, 
could  rally  and  stand  them  off.  Then  an  ex- 
change of  punts  once  more  drove  them  back  to 
their  twenty-five-yard  line. 

A  second  time  the  Andover  advance  set  out 
from  the  fifty-yard  line  and  slowly  fought  its 
way  to  surrender  the  ball  in  the  shadow  of  the 
goalposts. 

Stover  played  on  in  a  daze,  remembering  noth- 
ing of  the  confused  shock  of  bodies  that  had  gone 
before,  wondering  how  much  longer  he  could 
hold  out — to  last  out  the  game  as  the  captain 
had  told  him.  He  was  groggy,  from  time  to  time 
he  felt  the  sponge's  cold  touch  on  his  face  or 
heard  the  voice  of  Tough  McCarty  in  his  ear. 

"  Good  old  Dink,  die  game !  " 

How  he  loved  McCarty  fighting  there  by  his 
side,  whispering  to  him: 
[278] 


THE  yARMINT 

"  You  and  I,  Dink !  What  if  he  is  an  old  -ele- 
phant, we'll  put  him  out  the  play." 

Still,  flesh  and  blood  could  not  last  forever. 
The  half  must  be  nearly  up. 

"Two  minutes  more  time." 

"What  was  that?"  he  said  groggily  to  Flash 
Condit. 

"Two  minutes  more.     Hold  'em  now!" 

It  was  Andover's  ball.  He  glanced  around. 
They  were  down  near  the  twenty-five-yard  line 
somewhere.  He  looked  at  McCarty,  whose  fran- 
tic head  showed  against  the  sky. 

"  Break  it  up,  Tough,"  he  said,  and  struggled 
toward  him. 

A  cry  went  up,  the  play  was  halted. 

"  He's  groggy,"  he  heard  voices  say,  and  then 
came  the  welcome  splash  of  the  sponge. 

Slowly  his  vision  cleared  to  the  anxious  faces 
around  him. 

"  Can  you  last?  "  said  the  captain. 

"  I'm  all  right,"  he  said  gruffly. 

"  Things  cleared  up  now?  " 

"Fine!" 

McCarty  put  his  arm  about  him  and  walked 
with  him. 

"Oh,  Dink,  you  will  last,  won't  you?" 

"You  bet  I  will,  Tough!" 

"It's  the  last  stand,  old  boy!" 

"  The  last." 

[279] 


THE    VARMINT 

"  Only  two  minutes  more  we've  got  to  hold 
'em !  The  last  ditch,  Dink." 

« I'll  last." 

He  looked  up  and  saw  the  school  crouching 
along  the  line — tense  drawn  faces.  For  the  first 
time  he  realized  they  were  there,  calling  on  him. 
to  stand  steadfast. 

He  went  back,  meeting  the  rush  that  came 
his  way,  half-knocked  aside,  half-getting  his 
man,  dragged  again  until  assistance  came. 
DeSoto's  stinging  hand  slapped  his  back  and  the 
sting  was  good,  clearing  his  brain. 

Things  came  into  clear  outline  once  more. 
He  saw  down  the  line  and  to  the  end  where 
Garry  Cockrell  stood. 

"Good  old  captain,"  he  said.  "They'll  not 
get  by  me,  not  now." 

He  was  in  every  play  it  seemed  to  him,  won- 
dering why  Andover  was  always  keeping  the 
ball,  always  coming  at  his  end.  Suddenly  he 
had  a  shock.  Over  his  shoulder  were  the  goal- 
posts, the  line  he  stood  on  was  the  line  of  his 
own  goal. 

He  gave  a  hoarse  cry  and  went  forward  like 
a  madman,  parting  the  interference.  Some  one 
else  was  through ;  Tough  was  through ;  the  whole 
line  was  through  flinging  back  the  runner.  He 
went  down  clinging  to  Goodhue,  buried  under 
[280] 


THE   VARMINT 

a  mass  of  his  own  tacklers.     Then,  through  the 
frenzy,  he  heard  the  shrill  call  of  time. 

He  struggled  to  his  feet.  The  ball  lay  scarcely 
four  yards  away  from  the  glorious  goalposts. 
Then,  before  the  school  could  sweep  them  up; 
panting,  exhausted,  they  gathered  in  a  circle 
with  incredulous,  delirious  faces,  and  leaning 
heavily,  wearily  on  one  another  gave  the  cheer 
for  Andover.  And  the  touch  of  Stover's  arm 
on  McCarty's  shoulder  was  like  an  embrace. 


[281] 


XIX 

At  nine  o'clock  that  night  Stover  eluded  Den- 
nis de  Brian  de  Boru  Finnegan  and  the  Tennes- 
see Shad  and  went  across  the  dusky  campus, 
faintly  lit  by  the  low-hanging  moon.  Past  him 
hundreds  of  gnomelike  figures  were  scurrying, 
carrying  shadowy  planks  and  barrels,  while  glee- 
ful voices  crossed  and  recrossed. 

"  There's  a  whole  pile  back  of  Appleby's." 

"We've  got  an  oil  barrel." 

"  Burn  every  fence  in  the  county ! " 

"Who  cares!" 

"Where  did  you  get  that  plank?" 

"Up  by  the  Rouse." 

"Gee,  we'll  have  a  bonfire  bigger'n  the 
chapel!" 

"  More  wood,  Freshmen !  " 

"  Rotten  lot,  those  Freshmen ! " 

"  Hold  up  your  end,  Skinny.  Do  you  think 
I'm  a  pack  mule?  " 

Dink  pulled  the  brim  of  his  hat  over  his  eyes 
and  slunk  away,  not  to  be  recognized.  He  went 
in  a  roundabout  way  past  the  chapel.  He  had 
just  one  desire,  to  stand  under  the  goalposts 
they  had  defended  and  to  feel  again  the  thrill. 
[282  ] 


THE    VARMINT 

" Who's  that?"  The  voice  was  Tough  Mc- 
Carty's. 

"It's  me.     It's  Dink,"  said  Stover. 

"  I  came  down  here,"  said  McCarty,  appearing 
from  under  the  goal-posts  and  hesitating  a  lit- 
tle, "  well,  just  to  feel  how  it  felt  again." 

"  So  did  I." 

Dink  stood  by  the  posts,  taking  one  affection- 
ately in  his  hand,  and  said  curiously:  "They 
tell  me,  Tough,  we  held  'em  four  times  inside 
the  ten-yard  line." 

"  Four  times,  old  boy." 

"  Funny  I  don't  remember  but  two.  Guess  I 
was  groggy." 

"You  didn't  show  it." 

"  It  was  you  pulled  me  through,  Tough." 

"Rats!" 

"  It  was.  There  at  the  last,  I  remember  when 
you  gripped  me."  As  this  was  perilously  near 
sentiment  he  stopped.  "  I  say,  how  many  of  us 
tackled  that  fellow  the  last  time?" 

"The  whole  bunch.     I  say,  Dink." 

"Yes?" 

"Stand  out  here — that's  it,  knee  to  knee. 
Can't  you  just  feel  it  behind  you  ? " 

"Yes,"  said  Dink,  surprised  that  in  the  big 
body  there  was  an  imagination  akin  to  his  own. 
Then  he  said  abruptly: 

"Tough,  I  guess  there  won't  be  any  fight." 
[283] 


THE   VARMINT 

"  No—not  after  this." 

"What  the  deuce  did  we  get  a  grudge  for, 
anyway?" 

"  I  always  liked  you,  Dink,  but  you  wouldn't 
have  it." 

"  I  was  a  mean  little  varmint!  " 

"Rats!  I  say,  Dink,  we've  got  two  years  more 
on  the  old  team.  There's  nothing  going  to  get 
arouno^  our  end,  is  there,  old  boy?  " 

"You  bet  there  isn't!" 

All  at  once  a  flame  ran  up  the  towering  bonfire 
and  belched  toward  the  sky. 

"  Are  you  going  to  let  them  get  you  ? "  said 
McCarty. 

"Me?  Oh,  Lord,  no — I  can't  make  a 
speech ! " 

"Neither  can  I!"  said  Tough  mendaciously. 
"  I  wouldn't  go  back  there  for  the  world !  " 

The  thin  posts  stood  out  against  the  sheet  of 
flame,  gaunt,  rigid,  imbued  with  a  certain  gran- 
deur. 

"  I  say,  Dink,"  said  McCarty. 

"Yes?" 

"I  say,  we're  going  to  have  some  great  old 
fights  together.  But,  do  you  know,  I  sort  of 
feel  after  all,  this  will  be  the  best." 

Then  a  chorus  of  thin  shrieks  rose  about  them. 
They  started  half-heartedly  to  run,  pretending 
fury.  A  swarm  of  determined  boyhood  rushed 
[284] 


THE   VARMINT 

over  them  and  flung  them  kicking,  struggling 
into  the  air. 

"Tough  McCarty  and  Dink  Stover!" 

"  We've  got  'em !  " 

"  On  to  the  bonfire ! " 

"They're  ours!" 

"Hurray!" 

"Help!" 

"Help!    We've  got  McCarty  and  Stover!" 

Boys  by  the  score  came  tearing  out.  The  lit- 
tle knot  under  Dink  became  a  thick,  black 
shadow,  rushing  forward  with  hilarious,  trium- 
phant shouts.  Then  all  at  once  he  landed  all- 
fours  on  a  cart  before  the  flaming  stack,  greeted 
by  fishhorns  and  rattles,  his  name  shrieked  out 
in  a  wild  acclaim. 

"  Three  cheers  for  good  old  Dink ! " 

"  Three  cheers  for  honest  John  Stover !  " 

"  Three  cheers  for  the  little  cuss ! " 

He  drew  himself  up,  fumbling  at  his  cap,  ter- 
rified at  the  multiplied  faces  that  danced  before 
his  eyes. 

"  I  say,  fellows " 

"Hurray!" 

"Good  boy!" 

"Orator!" 

"  I  say,  fellows,  I  don't  see  why  you've  got  me 
up  here." 

"You  don't!" 

[285] 


THE   VARMINT 

"  We'll  show  you !  " 

"  Dink,  you're  the  finest  ever !  " 

"You're  the  stuff!" 

"  Three  cheers  for  good  old  Rinky  Dink ! " 

"Fellows,  I'm  no  silver-tongued  orator " 

"Don't  believe  it!" 

"You  are!" 

"  Fellows,  I  haven't  got  anything  to  say 

"That's  the  stuff!" 

"Hurray!" 

"Keep  it  up!" 

"Oh,  you  bulldog!" 

"  Fellows,  they  were  good " 

A  derisive  shout  went  up. 

"Fellows,  they  were  very  good " 

"Yes,  they  were!" 

"  Fellows,  they  were  re-markably  good — but 
they  didn't  beat  the  old  school  team!  That's 
all." 

He  dove  headlong  into  the  crowd,  unaware 
that  he  had  repeated  for  the  sixth  time  the  stock 
oration  of  the  evening. 

"  Good  old  Dink !    Good  old  Rinky  Dink ! " 

The  cry  stuck  in  his  memory  all  through  the 
jubilant  night  and  long  after,  when  in  his  deli- 
cious bed  he  tossed  and  worried  over  the  tackles 
he  had  missed. 

"  It's  a  bully  nickname — bully !  "  he  repeated 
drowsily,  again  and  again.  "It  sounds  as 
[286] 


THE   YAEMINT 

though  they  liked  you!  And  Tough  McCarty, 
what  a  bully  chap — bully!  We're  going  to  be 
friends — pals— what  a  bully  fellow!  Every- 
thing is  bully — everything!" 


With  the  close  of  the  football  season  and  the 
advent  of  December,  with  its  scurries  of  snow 
and  sleet,  what  might  be  termed  the  open  season 
for  masters  began. 

A  school  of  four  hundred  fellows  is  a  good 
deal  like  a  shaky  monarchy:  the  football  and 
baseball  seasons  akin  to  foreign  wars;  so  long 
as  they  last  the  tranquillity  of  the  state  is  se- 
cure, but  with  the  return  of  peace  a  state  of  fer- 
mentation and  unrest  is  due. 

The  three  weeks  that  lead  to  the  Christmas 
vacation  are  too  filled  with  anticipation  to  be 
dangerous.  It  is  the  long  reaches  after  January 
fifth,  the  period  of  arctic  night  that  settles  down 
until  the  passing  of  the  muddy  month  of  March, 
that  tries  the  souls  of  the  keepers  of  these  caged 
menageries. 

Since  those  days  a  humane  direction  has  built 
a  gymnasium  to  lighten  the  condition  of  servi- 
tude, preserve  the  health  and  prolong  the  lives 
of  the  Faculty.  But  at  this  time,  with  the  shut- 
ting of  the  door  on  the  treadmills  of  exercise, 
the  young  assistant  master  arranged  his  warm 
[287] 


THE   VARMINT 

wrapper  and  slippers  at  the  side  of  his  bed  and 
went  to  sleep  with  one  ear  raised. 

Dink  Stover  entered  this  season  of  mischief 
with  all  the  ardor  and  intensity  of  his  nature, 
the  more  so  because,  owing  to  his  weeks  of  strict 
training  and  his  virtual  isolation  of  the  year 
before,  it  was  all  strange  to  him.  And  at  that 
period  what  is  forbidden,  dangerous  and,  above 
all,  untried,  must  be  attempted  at  least  once. 

Now,  owing  to  the  foresight  of  a  wise  father, 
Dink  had  never  been  forbidden  to  smoke.  Of  a 
consequence  when,  at  an  early  age,  he  practiced 
upon  an  old  corncob  pipe  and  found  it  violently 
disagreed  with  him,  the  desire  abruptly  ceased 
and,  as  the  athletic  ardor  came,  he  consecrated 
his  years  to  the  duty  of  growing,  with  not  the 
slightest  regret. 

But  between  smoking  under  permission  and 
squeezing  close  to  a  cold-air  ventilator,  stealth- 
ily, in  the  pin-drop  silences  of  the  night,  with 
frightful  risks  of  detection,  was  all  the  differ- 
ence in  the  world.  One  was  a  disagreeable, 
thoroughly  unsympathetic  exercise;  the  other 
was  a  romantic,  mediaeval  adventure. 

So  when  Slops  Barnett,  who  roomed  below 
and  was  the  proprietor  of  a  model  air  flue  with 
direct,  perpendicular  draught,  said  to  him  with 
an  air  of  mannish  insouciance: 

"  I  say,  old  man,  I've  got  a  fat  box  of  'Gyp- 
[288] 


THE   VARMINT 

tians.     Glad  to  have  you  drop  in  to-night  if  you 
like  the  weed." 

Dink  answered  with  blase  familiarity: 

"Why,  thankee,  I've  been  aching  for  just  a 
good  old  coffin-nail." 

He  slipped  down  the  creaking,  nervous  stairs, 
and  found  Slops  luxuriously  reclining  before  the 
ventilator,  on  a  mattress  re-enforced  by  yellow 
and  green  sofa  pillows,  that  gave  the  whole  some- 
what of  the  devilishly  dissipated  effect  of  the 
scenes  from  Oriental  lands  that  fascinated  him 
on  the  covers  of  cigarette  boxes. 

Slops  made  him  a  sign  in  the  deaf-and-dumb 
language  to  extinguish  the  light  and  creep  to 
his  side. 

"Comfy?"  said  Slops,  whispering  from  the 
darkness. 

"Out  of  sight!" 

"Here's  the  filthy  weed." 

"Thanks." 

"  Always  keep  the  cig  in  front  of  the  ventila- 
tor," said  Slops,  applying  his  lips  to  Dink's  ear. 
"Get  a  light  from  mine.  Talk  in  whispers." 

Stover  filled  his  cheeks  cautiously  and  blew 
out  after  a  sufficient  period. 

"You  inhale?" 

"  Sure." 

"Inhale  a  cigar?" 

"  Always." 

[289] 


THE   YARMINT 

"  It's  awful  the  way  I  inhale,"  said  Slops  with 
a  melancholy  sigh.  "  I'm  undermining  my  con- 
stitution. Ever  see  my  hand?  Shakes  worse'n 
jelly.  Can't  help  it,  though;  can't  live  without 
the  weed.  I'm  a  regular  cig  fiend ! " 

Stover,  holding  his  cigarette  gingerly,  keeping 
the  sickly  smoke  at  the  end  of  his  tongue,  looked 
over  at  Slops'  stupid  little  face,  flashing  out  of 
the  darkness  at  each  puff.  He  was  no  longer  the 
useless  Slops  Barnett,  good  only  to  fetch  and 
carry  the  sweaters  of  the  team,  but  Barnett, 
man  of  the  world,  versed  in  deadly  prac- 
tices. 

"I  say,  Slops— 

"Hist— lower." 

"  I  say,  Slops,  what  would  they  do  if  they 
caught  us?" 

"  Bounce  us." 

"For  good?" 

"Sure!    P.  D.  Q." 

The  cigarette  suddenly  had  a  new  delight  to 
Dink.  He  was  even  tempted  to  inhale  a  small, 
very  small  puff,  but  immediately  conquered  this 
enthusiastic  impulse. 

"Isn't  this  the  gay  life,  though?"  said  Slops 
carelessly. 

"You  bet,"  said  Dink. 

From  down  the  flue  came  three  distinct  taps. 

"  That's  the  Gutter  Pup  signaling,"  said  Slops, 
[290] 


THE    VARMINT 

putting  his  finger  over  Dink's  inoutk.  "  Bundy 
is  snooping  around.  Muni's  the  word." 

Presently,  as  Dink  sat  there  in  the  darkness, 
trying  desperately  to  breathe  noiselessly,  the 
sound  of  slipping  footsteps  was  heard  in  the  hall. 
Slops'  hand  closed  over  his.  The  steps  stopped 
directly  outside  their  door,  waited  a  long  mo- 
ment and  went  on. 

"Bundy?"  said  Dink  in  a  whisper. 

"  Yes." 

"Why  did  he  stop?" 

"  He's  got  me  spotted.  He's  seen  the  nicotine 
on  my  finger,"  said  Slops,  showing  a  finger  un- 
der a  sudden  glow  of  his  cigarette. 

A  half-hour  later  when  Dink  crept  up  the 
stairs,  homeward  bound,  he  swelled  with  a  new 
sensation.  Yesterday  was  months  away;  then 
he  was  a  boy,  now  that  he  had  smoked  up  a  cold- 
air  ventilator,  with  Bundy  outwitted  by  the  door, 
he  had  aged  with  a  jump — he  must  be  at  last  a 
man. 

The  next  week  he  added  to  his  stature  by  go- 
ing to  P.  Lentz's  room  for  a  midnight  session  of 
the  national  game,  where,  after  a  titanic  strug- 
gle of  three  hours,  he  won  the  colossal  sum  of 
forty-eight  cents. 

Having  sunk  to  these  depths  he  began  to 
listen  to  the  Sunday  sermons  with  a  thrill  of 
personal  delight — there  being  not  the  slightest 
[291] 


THE    VARMINT 

doubt  that  they  were  directly  launched  at  him. 
Sometimes  he  wondered  how  the  Doctor  and 
The  Roman  could  remain  ignorant  of  the  extent 
of  his  debauches,  his  transgressions  were  so  dar- 
ing and  so  complete.  He  stood  shivering  up  the 
Trenton  road,  under  the  shadow  of  an  icy  trunk, 
of  Sunday  mornings,  and  met  Blinky,  the  one- 
eyed  purveyor  of  illicit  cigarettes  and  the  for- 
bidden Sunday  newspapers,  which  had  to  be 
wrapped  around  his  body  and  smuggled  under 
a  sweater. 

Secretly  he  rubbed  iodine  on  his  fingers  to 
simulate  the  vicious  stain  of  nicotine  that  was 
such  a  precious  ornament  to  Slops'  squat  fin- 
gers. Only  one  thing  distressed  him,  and  that 
was  his  invincible  dislike  for  the  cigarette  itself. 

Being  now  a  celebrity,  many  doors  were 
thrown  invitingly  open  to  him,  invitations  that 
flattered  him,  without  his  making  a  distinction. 
He  went  over  to  the  Upper  at  times  and  into 
rooms  where  he  had  no  business,  immensely 
proud  that  he  was  called  in  to  share  the  de- 
lights and  liberties  of  the  lords  of  the  school. 

At  the  Kennedy  he  was  in  constant  rebellion 
against  established  precedent,  constantly  called 
below  to  be  lectured  by  The  Roman.  In  revenge 
for  which  at  night  he  made  the  life  of  Mr.  Bundy 
one  of  constant  insomnia,  and,  by  soaping  the 
stairs  or  strewing  tacks  in  the  hall,  seriously  in- 
[292] 


THE    VAEMINT 

terfered  with  that  inexperienced  young  gentle- 
man's nightly  exercises. 

The  deeper  he  went  the  deeper  he  was  deter- 
mined to  go ;  doggedly  imagining  that  the  whole 
Faculty,  led  by  The  Eoman,  were  bending  every 
effort  to  bring  him  down  and  convict  him. 

The  Tennessee  Shad  had  no  inclinations  to- 
ward sporting  life — greatly  to  Stover's  surprise. 
When  Dink  urged  him  to  join  the  clandestine 
parties  he  only  yawned  in  a  bored  way. 

"  Come  on  now,  Shad,  be  a  sport,"  said  Dink, 
repeating  the  stock  phrase. 

"  You're  not  sports,"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad 
in  languid  derision,  "you're  bluffs.  Besides, 
I've  been  all  through  it,  two  years  ago.  Hurry 
up  with  your  dead-game  sporting  phase,  if  you've 
got  to,  but  get  through  it;  'cause  now  you're 
nothing  but  a  nuisance." 

Dink  felt  considerably  grieved  at  his  room- 
mate's flippant  attitude  toward  his  career  of  vice. 
Secretly,  he  felt  that  a  word  of  kindly  remon- 
strance, some  friendly  effort  to  pull  him  back 
from  the  frightful  abyss  into  which  he  was  sink- 
ing, would  have  been  more  like  a  friend  and  a 
roommate. 

This  same  callous  indifference  to  the  fate  of 
his  roommate's  soul  so  incensed  Stover  that, 
to  bring  before  the  Shad's  eyes  the  really  des- 
perate state  of  his  morals,  he  appointed  a  Welsh- 
[293] 


THE   VARMINT 

rabbit  party  in  their  room  for  the  following 
night. 

"Don't  mind,  do  you?"  he  said  carelessly. 

"Not  if  I  don't  have  to  eat  it! " 

"  It's  going  to  be  a  real  one,"  said  Stover, 
making  a  distinction." 

"  Come  off !  " 

"  Fact.  It  is  not  going  to  be  flavored  with 
rootbeer,  tooth  wash,  condensed  milk  or  russet 
polish;  it  is  going  to  be  the  genuine,  satisfac- 
tion guaranteed,  or  you  get  your  money  back." 

"With  beer?" 

"  Exactly." 

"Yes,  it  is!" 

"It  is." 

"  Where'll  you  get  it?  " 

"I  have  ways." 

"  Oh,"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad  sarcastically, 
"this  is  one  of  your  real,  sporting-life  parties, 
is  it?" 

Stover  disdained  to  answer. 

"  Is  that  bunch  of  slums  going  to  be  here?  " 

"Are  you  referring  to  my  friends?"  said 
Stover. 

"  I  am,"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad,  "  and  all  1 
ask  while  this  feast  of  bacchanalian  orgies  is 
going  on,  is  that  /  be  allowed  to  sleep." 

At  eleven  o'clock  Stover,  holding  his  shoes  in 
his  hand,  went  down  the  stairs  to  meet  Slops  in 
[294] 


THE   VARMINT 

Fatty  Harris'  room  and  thence  into  the  outlawed 
night.  They  stole  over  the  crinkling  snow, 
burying  their  noses  in  their  sweaters,  until,  hav- 
ing climbed  several  fences,  they  arrived  behind 
a  shed  of  particularly  cavernous  appearance. 

"  Make  the  signal,"  said  Slops,  sheltering  him- 
self behind  Stover. 

Blinky  appeared  like  a  monster  of  the  night. 

"Hist,  Blinky,  O.  K.?"  said  Slops,  who,  hav- 
ing his  shoulder  to  Dink's  recovered  his  sporting 
manner.  "Got  the  booze?" 

"  I  got  it,"  said  Blinky  in  husky  accents,  with 
Ms  hand  behind  his  back.  "  What's  youse  got?  " 

"  The  cash  is  here  all  right.  How  many  bots 
did  you  bring?  " 

Blinky  slowly  brought  forward  one  bottle. 

"What,  only  one?"  said  Slops  the  bacchana- 
lian, in  dismay. 

"  All's  left,"  said  Blinky,  with  a  double  mean- 
ing. 

"How  much?" 

"One  dollar." 

"What!    You  robber!" 

"Take  it  or  leave  it — don't  care,"  said  Blinky, 
who  sat  down  and  hugged  the  bottle  to  him  like 
a  baby. 

They  paid  the  extortion  and  slunk  back. 

"  We'll  have  to  cook  up  a  story,"  said  Dink. 

"Sure!" 

[295] 


THE   VARMINT 

"  Still,  it's  beer." 

"It  certainly  is!" 

"It's  expulsion  if  we're  caught." 

"And  a  penal  offense,  don't  forget  that! " 

Somewhat  consoled  by  this  delightful  thought 
they  cautiously  tapped  on  Fatty  Harris'  window 
and,  removing  their  boots,  tiptoed  upstairs  like 
anarchists  with  a  price  on  their  heads. 

In  Stover's  room  three  more  desperate  char- 
acters were  waiting  about  the  chafing  dish, 
Fatty  Harris,  Slush  Randolph  and  Pee-wee  Nor- 
ris,  all  determined  on  a  life  of  crime — but  all 
slightly  nervous. 

The  Tennessee  Shad,  rolled  into  a  ball  on  his 
bed,  was  venting  his  scorn  with  an  occasional 
snore. 

Stover  held  up  the  lonely  bottle. 

"Is  that  all?"  exclaimed  the  three  in  indig- 
nant whispers. 

"All,  and  mighty  lucky  to  get  that,"  said 
Dink  valiantly.  "We  were  chased  by  the  con- 
stable, terrific  time,  pounced  on  us,  desperate 
struggle,  just  got  away  with  our  skins." 

At  this  a  distinct  snort  was  heard  from  the 
direction  of  the  Tennessee  Shad's  bed. 

"  I  say,  isn't  it  rather — rather  dangerous?  " 
said  Pee-wee  Norris,  with  his  ears  horribly 
strained. 

"What  of  it?" 

[296] 


THE   VARMINT 

"Suppose  he  goes  to  the  Doctor?" 

"We'll  have  to  take  the  risk." 

"  I  say,  though,  let's  be  quick  about  it." 

An  uncongenial  chill  began  to  pervade  the 
room.  Fatty  Harris,  as  master  cook,  visibly 
hastened  the  operations. 

The  Tennessee  Shad  was  now  heard  to  say  in 
a  mumbled  jumble: 

"Hurrah  for  crime!  Never  say  die,  boys — 
dead  game  sports — give  us  a  drink,  bartender !  " 

The  revelers  stood  at  the  bed  looking  wrath- 
fully  down  at  the  cynic,  who  snored  heavily  and 
said  drowsily: 

"Talks  in  his  sleep,  he  talks  in  his  sleep,  poor 
old  Pol!" 

"  Don't  pay  any  attention  to  him,"  said  Stover 
angrily.  "  He's  a  cheap  wit.  What  are  you 
doing  at  the  door,  Pee- wee?  " 

"I'm  listening,"  said  Norris,  turning  guiltily. 

"You're  afraid!" 

"I'm  not;  only  let's  hurry  it  up." 

Fatty  Harris,  watching  the  swirling  yellow 
depths  of  the  rabbit  with  evident  anxiety,  emp- 
tied a  third  of  the  beer  into  it  and  held  out  the 
bottle,  saying: 

"  Here,  sports,  fill  up  the  glasses  with  the 
good  old  liquor." 

When  the  three  glasses  and  two  toothmugs 
had  received  their  exact  portion  of  the  bitter 
[297] 


THE   VARMINT 

stuff,  which  had  been  allowed  to  foam  copi- 
ously in  order  to  eke  out,  the  five  desperadoes 
solemnly  touched  glasses  and  Slops  Barnett, 
who  had  visited  in  Princeton,  led  them  in  that 
whispered  toast  that  is  the  acme  of  devilment : 

"  Then  stand  by  your  glasses  steady, 

Tliis  world  is  a  world  full  of  lies. 
Then  here's  to  the  dead  already  dead, 
And  here's  to  the  next  man  who  dies!  " 

It  was  terrific.  Stover,  quite  moved,  looked 
about  the  circle,  thought  that  Pee-wee  looked  the 
nearest  to  the  earthworm  and  repeated  solemnly : 

"To  the  next  man  who  dies." 

At  this  moment  the  Tennessee  Shad  was  heard 
derisively  intoning: 

"Ring  around  a  rosie, 
Pocket  full  of  posie. 
Oats,  peas,  beans  and  barley  grows. 
Open  the  ring  and  take  her  in 
And  kiss  her  when  you  get  her  in!" 

They  paid  no  heed.  They  felt  too  acutely  the 
solemnity  of  life  and  the  fleeting  hour  of  pleasure 
to  be  deterred  by  even  the  lathery  aspect  of  their 
own  faces,  which  emerged  from  the  suds  of  the 
beer  ready  for  the  barber. 
[298] 


THE   VAKMINT 

"  Dish  out  the  bunny,"  said  Slops,  putting 
down  his  mug  with  a  reckless  look. 

Suddenly  there  came  an  impressive  knock  and 
the  voice  of  Mr.  Bundy  saying: 

"Open  the  door,  Stover!" 

In  a  thrice  the  revelry  broke  up,  the  telltale 
bottle  and  glasses  were  stowed  under  the  win- 
dow-seat, the  visiting  sporting  gentlemen  pre- 
cipitately groveled  to  places  of  concealment, 
while  Stover  extinguished  the  lights  and  softly 
stole  into  bed. 

"Open  the  door  at  once!" 

"Who's  there?"  said  Dink  with  a  start. 

"  Open  the  door !  " 

All  sleepy  innocence  Dink  opened  the  door, 
rubbing  his  eyes  at  the  sudden  glow. 

"Up  after  lights?"  said  Mr.  Bundy,  marching 
in. 

"  I,  sir?  "  said  Dink,  astounded. 

All  at  once  Mr.  Bundy  perceived  the  chafing- 
dish  and  descended  upon  it.  Stover's  heart 
sank — if  he  tasted  it  they  were  lost;  no  power 
could  save  them.  Mr.  Bundy  turned  and  sur- 
veyed the  room;  one  by  one  the  terrified  roues 
were  dragged  forth  and  recognized,  while  the 
Tennessee  Shad  sat  on  the  edge  of  his  bed,  re- 
flectively sharpening  his  fingers  on  the  pointed 
knee-caps. 

Then,  to  the  horror  of  all,  Mr.  Bundy,  sniffing 
[299] 


THE   VARMINT 

the  chafing-dish,  inserted  a  spoon  and  tasted  it. 
Immediately  he  set  the  spoon  down  with  a 
crash,  gave  a  furious  glance  at  Stover  and  de- 
parted, after  ordering  them  to  their  rooms. 

The  dead  game  sports,  white  and  shaky,  went 
without  stopping. 

"  They're  a  fine  sample  of  vicious  bounders, 
they  are !  "  said  the  Tennessee  Shad.  "  Bet  that 
Slops  Barnett  is  weeping  to  his  pillow  now !  " 

"  I'm  sorry  I  got  you  into  this,"  said  Stover 
gloomily. 

"  You've  brought  my  gray  hairs  in  sorrow  to 
the  grave ! "  said  the  Tennessee  Shad  solemnly. 

"  Don't  jest,"  said  Dink  in  a  still  voice.  "  It's 
all  up  with  me,  but  I'll  square  you." 

"  Don't  worry,"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad,  smil- 
ing. "  I  may  not  be  a  tin  sport,  but  I  keep  my 
thinker  going  all  the  time." 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean? " 

"I  mean  you'll  get  twigged  for  a  midnight 
spread,  that's  all." 

"  But  the  beer.     Bundy  tasted  the  beer." 

"  Taste  it  yourself,"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad, 
with  a  wave  of  his  hand. 

Stover  hurriedly  dipped  in  a  spoon,  tasted  it 
and  uttered  an  execration. 

"  Murder,  what  did  you  put  in  it?  " 

"About  half  a  bottle  of  horse  liniment,"  said 
the  Tennessee  Shad,   crawling  back  into  bed. 
[300] 


THE   VARMINT 

"Only,  don't  tell  the  others  if  you  want  to  see 
how  much  dead  game  sportiness  there  is  in  them 
by  to-morrow  morning." 

The  affair  made  a  great  noise  and,  as  Stover 
suppressed  the  transformation  worked  by  the 
Tennessee  Shad,  Slops  Barnett  and  his  com- 
panions did  not  exactly  show  those  qualities  of 
Stoic  resignation  which  might  be  expected  from 
brazen  characters  with  their  view  of  life. 

Meanwhile,  the  skies  cleared  and  the  earth 
hardened,  and  the  air  resounded  with  the  cries 
of  baseball  candidates. 

Much  to  his  surprise,  Dink  found  at  the  end 
of  the  strenuous  day  no  impelling  desire  to 
plunge  into  fast  life.  Still  the  conviction  re- 
mained for  a  long  time  that  his  soul  had  been 
surrendered,  that  not  only  was  he  destined  for 
the  gallows  in  this  world,  but  that  only  the 
prayers  of  his  mother  might  save  him  from  being 
irrevocably  damned  in  the  next.  It  was  a  ter- 
rific thought,  and  yet  it  brought  a  certain  pleas- 
ure. He  was  different  from  the  rest.  He  was 
a  man  of  the  world.  He  had  known — LIFE  ! 

The  -episode  ended  as  episodes  in  the  young 
days  end— in  a  laugh. 

"I  say,  Dink,"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad  one 
afternoon  in  April,  as,  gloriously  reveling  on 
the  warm  turf,  they  watched  the  'Varsity  nine. 

"  Say  it." 

[301] 


THE    VARMINT 

"In  your  dead-game  sporting  days  did  you 
ever,  by  chance,  paint  your  nicotine  fingers  with 
iodine?" 

"  How  in  blazes  did  you  know?" 

"  Used  to  do  it  myself,"  said  the  Shad  reminis- 
cently.  Then  he  added :  "  Thought  yourself  a 
lost  soul?" 

Stover  began  to  laugh. 

"  All  alone  in  a  cold,  cold  world — wicked,  very 
wicked?  " 

"  Perhaps." 

"And  it  was  rather  a  nice  feeling,  too,  wasn't 
it?" 

"  I  didn't  know,  you "  said  Dink,  blushing 

to  find  himself  back  in  the  common  herd. 

"Me,  too,"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad,  sucking 
a  straw.  "Good  old  sporting  days!"  Pres- 
ently he  began  mischievously: 

"  Then  stand  by  your  glasses  steady, 
This  world  is  a " 

But  here  Dink,  rising  up,  tumbled  him  over. 


[302] 


XX 

With  the  complete  arrival  of  the  spring  came 
also  a  lessening  of  Dink's  requested  appearances 
at  Faculty  meetings,  his  little  evening  chats  in 
The  Roman's  study  on  matters  of  disciplinary 
interpretation  and  the  occasional  summons 
through  the  gates  of  Avernus  to  quail  before  the 
all-seeing  eye. 

It  was  not  that  the  spirit  of  Spartacus  was 
faint,  or  that  his  enmity  had  weakened  toward 
The  Roman — who,  of  course,  without  the  slight- 
est doubt,  was  always  the  persecutor  responsible 
for  his  summons  before  the  courts  of  injustice. 
The  truth  was,  Stover  had  suddenly  begun  to 
age  and  to  desire  to  put  from  himself  youthful 
things.  This  extraordinary  phenonenon  that 
somehow  does  happen  was  in  some  measure  a 
reflex  action. 

Ever  since  the  stormy  afternoon  on  which  he 
had  decided  against  his  own  eleven,  he  had  slowly 
come  to  realize  that  he  had  won  a  peculiar  place 
in  the  estimation  of  the  school — somewhat  of 
the  dignity  of  the  incorruptible  judges  that  ex- 
isted in  former  days.  He  became  in  a  small  way 
a  sort  of  court  of  arbitration  before  which  ques- 
[303  ] 


THE    VARMINT 

tions  of  more  or  less  gravity  were  submitted. 
This  deference  at  first  embarrassed,  then  amused, 
then  finally  pleased  him  with  an  acute,  mannish 
pleasure. 

The  consequence  was  that  Stover,  who  until 
this  time  had  only  looked  forward  and  up  at 
the  majestic  shadows  of  the  fourth  and  fifth 
formers,  now  looked  backward  and  down,  and 
became  pleasurably  aware  that  leagues  below  him 
was  the  large  body  of  the  first  and  second  forms. 
Having  perceived  this  new  adjustment  he  woke 
with  a  start  and,  rubbing  his  eyes,  took  stock  of 
his  amazing  knowledge  of  life  and  again  said 
to  himself  that  now,  finally,  he  certainly  must 
have  arrived  at  man's  estate. 

On  top  of  which,  having  been  asked  to  referee 
several  disputes  in  his  character  of  Honest  John 
Stover,  Dink,  while  holding  himself  in  reserve 
to  direct  operations  on  a  dignified  and  colossal 
scale  against  the  Natural  Enemy,  decided  that 
it  was  unbecoming  of  a  man  of  his  position,  age 
and  reputation,  who  had  the  entree  of  the  Up- 
per House,  to  go  skipping  about  the  midnight 
ways,  in  undignified  costume,  with  such  rank 
shavers  as  Pebble  Stone  and  Dennis  de  B.  de  B. 
Finnegan. 

So  when  Dennis  arrived  after  lights,  like  a 
will-o'-the-wisp,  with  a  whispered: 

"  I  say,  Dink,  all  ready." 
[304] 


THE   VARMINT 

Stover  replied: 

"All  ready  in  bed." 

"  What/'  said  Dennis  aghast,  "  you're  not  with 
us?" 

"  No." 

"Aren't  you  feeling  well?" 

"  First  rate." 

"  But  I  say,  Dink,  there's  half  a  dozen  of  us. 
We've  got  all  the  laundry  bags  in  the  house 
heaped  up  just  outside  of  Beekstein's  door  and, 
I  say,  we're  going  to  pile  'em  all  up  on  top  of 
him  and  then  jump  on  and  pie  him,  and  scoot 
for  our  rooms  before  old  Bundy  can  jump  the 
stairs  and  nab  us.  It'll  be  regular  touch  and 
go — a  regular  lark !  Come  on ! " 

A  snore  answered  him. 

"You  won't  come?" 

«  No." 

"Are  you  mad  at  me?" 

"No,  I'm  sleepy!" 

"Sleepy!"  said  Dennis  in  such  amazement 
that  he  no  longer  had  any  strength  to  argue, 
and  left  the  room  convinced  that  Stover  was 
heroically  concealing  an  agony  of  pain. 

Stover  immediately  settled  his  tired  body,  sunk 
his  nose  to  the  level  of  the  covers  and  floated 
blissfully  off  into  the  land  of  dreams.  The  next 
night  and  the  next  it  was  the  same.  For  a  whole 
month  Dink  slept,  wasting  not  a  one  of  the  pre- 
[305] 


THE    VARMINT 

cious  moments  of  the  night,  sleeping  through  the 
slow-moving  recitations,  sleeping  on  the  green 
turf  of  afternoons,  pillowed  on  Tough  McCarty 
or  the  Tennessee  Shad,  and  watching  others 
scampering  around  the  diamond  in  incompre- 
hensible activity;  but  the  month  was  the  month 
of  April  and  his  years  sixteen.  In  the  first  week 
of  May  Stover  awakened,  the  drowsiness  dropped 
from  him  and  the  spirit  of  perpetual  motion 
again  returned.  Still,  the  distance  between  him- 
self and  his  past  remained.  He  had  changed, 
become  graver,  more  laconic,  moving  with  se- 
dateness,  like  Garry  Cockrell,  whose  tricks  of 
speech  and  gestures  he  imitated,  holding  him- 
self rather  aloof  from  the  populace,  curiously 
conscious  that  the  change  had  come,  and  some- 
times looking  back  with  profound  melancholy 
on  the  youth  that  had  now  passed  irrevocably 
away. 

During  this  period  of  somewhat  fragile  self- 
importance,  the  acquaintance  with  Tough  Mc- 
Carty had  strengthened  into  an  eternal  friend- 
ship in  a  manner  that  had  a  certain  touch  of 
humor. 

McCarty,  after  the  close  of  the  football  season, 
had  repeatedly  sought  out  his  late  antagonist, 
but,  though  Dink  at  the  bottom  of  his  soul  was 
thrilled  with  the  thought  that  here  at  last  was 
the  friend  of  friends,  the  Damon  to  his  Pythias, 
[306] 


THE    VARMINT 

the  chum  who  was  to  stand  shoulder  to  his 
shoulder,  and  so  on,  still  there  was  too  much 
self-conscious  pride  in  him  to  yield  immediately 
to  this  feeling. 

McCarty  perceived  the  reserve  without  quite 
analyzing  it,  and  was  puzzled  at  the  barriers 
that  still  intervened. 

During  the  winter,  when  Dink  was  resolutely 
set  in  the  pursuit  of  that  beau-ideal,  which  had 
a  marked  resemblance  with  a  certain  creation 
of  Bret  Harte's,  Mr.  Jack  Hamlin,  "gentleman 
sport,"  as  Dennis  would  have  called  him,  Mc- 
Carty found  little  opportunity  for  friendly  inter- 
course. He  disapproved  of  many  of  Dink's 
friendships,  not  so  much  from  a  moralistic  point 
of  view  as  from  Stover's  not  exercising  the 
principle  of  selection.  As  this  phase  was  in- 
tensified and  Stover  became  the  object  of  criti- 
cism of  his  classmates  for  hanging  at  the  heels 
of  fifth-formers  and  neglecting  his  own  territory, 
McCarty  resolved  that  the  plain  duty  of  a  friend 
required  him  to  administer  a  moral  lecture. 

This  heroic  resolve  threw  him  into  confusion 
for  a  week,  for,  in  the  first  place,  he  had  been 
accustomed  to  receive  rather  than  to  give  words 
of  warning  and,  in  the  second  place,  he  was 
fully  aware  of  the  difficulties  of  opening  up  the 
subject  at  all. 

After  much  anxious  and  gloomy  cogitation  he 
[307] 


THE    VARMINT 

hit  upon  a  novel  plan  and,  approaching  Stover 
at  the  end  of  the  last  recitation,  gave  him  a  mys- 
terious wink. 

"What's  up?"  said  Dink  instantly. 

McCarty  pulled  him  aside: 

"  I've  got  a  couple  of  A.  No.  1  millionaire 
cigars,"  he  said  in  a  whisper.  "If  you've  got 
nothing  better,  why,  come  along." 

"I'm  yours  on  the  jump,"  said  Dink,  trying 
to  give  to  his  words  a  joy  which  he  was  far  from 
feeling  in  his  stomach. 

"You  smoke  cigars?" 

"Do  I!" 

"  Come  on,  then !  " 

It  was  the  last  day  of  March,  which  had  gone 
out  like  a  lamb,  leaving  the  ground  still  chill 
and  moist  with  the  memory  of  departed  snows. 
They  went  down  by  the  pond  in  the  shelter  of 
the  grove  and  McCarty  proudly  produced  two 
cigars  coated  with  gilt  foil. 

"  They  look  the  real  thing  to  me,"  said  Dink, 
eying  the  long  projectiles  with  a  rakish,  profes- 
sional look. 

Now,  Dink  had  never  smoked  a  cigar  in  his 
life  and  was  alarmed  at  the  thought  of  the  task 
before  him ;  but  he  was  resolved  to  die  a  linger- 
ing death  rather  than  allow  that  humiliating 
secret  to  be  discovered. 

"  You  bet  they're  the  real  thing,"  said  Tough 
[308] 


THE   VARMINT 

McCarty,   slipping  off  the   foil.    "Real,   black 
beauties !    Get  the  flavor?  " 

Dink  approached  the  ominous  black  cigar  to 
his  nose,  sniffed  it  rapturously  and  cocked  a 
knowing  eye. 

"Aha!" 

"Real  Havanas!" 

"  They  certainly  smell  good !  " 

"Swiped  'em  off  my  brother-in-law,  forty-five 
centers." 

"  I  believe  it.    Say,  what  do  you  call  'em?" 

"Invincibles." 

The  name  threw  a  momentary  chill  over 
Stover,  but  he  instantly  recovered. 

"  I  say,  we  ought  to  have  a  couple  of  hatpins," 
he  said,  turning  the  cigar  in  his  fingers. 

"What  for?" 

"  Smoke  'em  to  the  last  puff ! " 

"  We'll  use  our  penknives." 

"  All  right — after  you." 

Stover  cautiously  drew  in  his  first  puff.  To 
his  surprise  nothing  immediate  happened. 

"How  is  it?"  said  McCarty. 

"Terrific!" 

"Do  you  inhale?" 

"  Sometimes,"  said  Stover,  with  an  inconse- 
quential wave  of  his  hand. 

This  gave  McCarty  his  opening;  besides,  he 
was  deceived  by  Stover's  complete  manner. 
[309] 


THE   YAKMINT 

"  Dink,  I'm  afraid  you're  smoking  too  much," 
he  said  earnestly,  puffing  on  his  cigar. 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Dink,  immensely  flattered 
by  this  undeserved  accusation  from  McCarty, 
who  smoked  forty-five-cent  cigars. 

"Yes,  you  are.  I  know  it.  Trouble  with  you 
is,  old  boy,  you  never  do  anything  by  halves.  I 
know  you." 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Stover  loftily. 

"  You're  smoking  too  much,  and  that's  not  all, 
Dink.  I — I've  wanted  to  have  a  chance  at 
you  for  a  long  while,  and  now  I'm  going  for 
you." 

«  Hello " 

"Now,  look  here,  boy,"  said  Tough  McCarty, 
filling  the  air  with  the  blue  smoke,  "  I'm  not  a 
mammy  boy  nor  a  goody-goody,  and  I  don't  like 
preaching;  but  you've  got  too  much  ahead  of 
you,  old  rooster,  to  go  and  throw  it  away." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  said  Dink,  champing 
furiously  on  his  cigar,  as  he  had  seen  several 
stage  villains  do. 

"I  mean,  old  socks,"  said  Tough,  frowning 
with  his  effort — "  I  mean  there  are  some  fellows 
here  who  are  worth  while  and  some  who  are  not, 
who  won't  do  you  any  good,  who  don't  amount 
to  a  row  of  pins,  and  aren't  up  to  you  in  any 
way  you  look  at  it" 

"  Are  you  criticising  my  friends?  "  said  Stover, 
[310] 


THE   VARMINT 

who  had  just  passed  an  even  more  unflattering 
judgment,  due  to  the  Welsh-rabbit  episode. 

"  I  am,"  said  McCarty,  passing  his  hand  over 
his  forehead  with  difficulty. 

Stover  was  just  about  to  make  an  angry  reply 
when  he  looked  at  McCarty,  who  suddenly 
leaned  back  against  the  tree.  At  the  same  mo- 
ment a  feeling  of  insecurity  overtook  him.  He 
started  again  to  make  an  angry  answer  and 
then  all  pugnacious  thoughts  left  him.  He  sat 
down  suddenly,  his  head  swam  on  his  shoulders 
and  about  him  the  woods  danced  in  drunken 
reelings,  sweeping  grotesque  boughs  over  him. 
Only  the  earth  felt  good,  the  damp,  muddy 
earth,  which  he  all  at  once  convulsively  em- 
braced. 

"Dink!" 

The  sound  was  far  off,  weak  and  fraught  with 
mortal  distress. 

"Has  it  hit  you,  too?" 

Dink's  answer  was  a  groan.  He  opened  one 
eye ;  McCarty,  prone  at  his  side,  lay  on  his  stom- 
ach, burying  his  head  in  his  arms. 

At  this  moment  a  light  patter  sounded  about 
them. 

"  It's  beginning  to  rain." 

« I  don't  care!" 

"Neither  do  I." 

Stover  lay  clutching  the  earth,  that  somehow 
[311] 


THE   VARMINT 

wouldn't  kept  still,  that  moved  under  him,  that 
swayed  and  rose  and  fell.  Then  things  began 
to  rush  through  his  brain:  armies  of  football- 
clad  warriors,  The  Roman  whirling  by  on  one 
leg  of  his  chair,  Dennis  de  Brian  de  Boru  Finne- 
gan  prancing  impishly,  sticking  out  his  tongue 
at  him,  whole  flocks  of  Sunday  preachers  gestic- 
ulating in  his  direction,  crowds  of  faces,  legs, 
arms,  an  old,  yellow  dog  with  a  sausage  in  his 
mouth 

Suddenly  near  him  McCarty  began  to  move. 

"  Where  are  you  going?  "  he  managed  to  say. 
"For  Heaven's  sake,  don't  leave  me." 

"  To  the  pond— drink." 

McCarty,  on  his  hands  and  knees,  began  to 
crawl.  Stover  raised  himself  up  and  staggered 
after.  The  rain  came  down  unheeded — nothing 
could  add  to  his  misery.  They  reached  the  pond 
and  drank  long  copious  drinks,  plunging  their 
dripping  heads  in  the  water. 

Gradually  the  vertigo  passed.  Faint  and  weak 
they  sat  propped  up  opposite  each  other,  sol- 
emnly, sadly,  glance  to  glance,  while  unnoticed 
the  rain  spouted  from  the  ends  of  their  noses. 

"Oh,  Dink!"  said  Tough  at  last. 

"Don't!" 

"  I  thought  I  was  going  to  die." 

"  I'm  not  sure  of  it  yet." 

"I  had  a  lot  I  wanted  to  say  to  you,"  said 
[313] 


THE   VARMINT 

Tough  painfully,  feeling  the  opportunity  was 
slipping  away. 

"You  said  I  was  smoking  too  much/'  said 
Dink  maliciously. 

"  Ugh !     Don't— no,  that  wasn't  it," 

"Shut  up,  old  cockalorum,"  said  Dink  pleas- 
antly. "  I  know  all  you  want  to  say — found  it 
out  myself — it's  all  in  one  word — swelled  head ! " 

"  Oh !  "  said  Tough  deprecatingly,  now  that 
Dink  had  turned  accuser. 

"  I've  been  a  little,  fluffy  ass ! "  said  Dink, 
marvelously  stimulated  to  repentance  by  the  epi- 
sode which  had  gone  before.  "  But  that's  over. 
My  head's  subsiding." 

"What?" 

The  two  burst  into  sympathetic  laughter. 

"  You — you  didn't  mind  my  sailing  into  you, 
old  horse? "  said  Tough. 

"Not  now." 

McCarty  looked  mystified. 

"  Tough,"  said  Dink  with  a  queer  look,  "  if 
you  had  smoked  that  black  devil  and  I  hadn't — 
all  would  have  been  over  between  us.  As  it 

"Well?"  said  Tough. 

"  As  it  is — Tough,  here's  my  hand — let's  swear 
an  eternal  friendship !  " 
"Put  it  there!" 

"  I  say,  Tough " 

[313] 


THE    VARMINT 

"What?" 

"  Now,  on  your  honor — did  you  ever  smoke  a 
cigar  before?" 

"Never,''  said  McCarty.  "And  I'll  never 
smoke  another.  So  help  me." 

"Nor  I.    I  say,  what  was  that  name?" 

"  Invincibles." 

"  That's  where  we  should  have  stopped ! " 

"  Dink,  I  begin  to  feel  a  little  chilly." 

"  Tough,  that's  a  good  sign ;  let's  up." 

Arm  in  arm,  laughing  uproariously,  they  went, 
still  a  little  shaky,  back  toward  the  school. 

"  I  say,  Tough,"  said  Dink,  throwing  his  arm 
affectionately  about  the  other's  shoulders.  "  I've 
been  pretty  much  of  a  jackass,  haven't  I?" 

"  Oh,  come,  now !  " 

"  I'm  afraid  I'm  not  built  for  a  sport,"  said 
Dink,  with  a  lingering  regret.  "But  I  say, 
Tough " 

"What?" 

"I  may  be  the  prodigal  son,  but  you're  the 
devil  of  a  moral  lecturer,  you  are !  " 


[314] 


XXI 

One  Wednesday  afternoon,  as  Dink  was  loll- 
ing gorgeously  on  his  window-seat,  sniffing  the 
alert  air  and  waiting  for  the  moment  to  go  skip- 
ping over  to  the  'Varsity  field  for  the  game  with 
a  visiting  school,  a  voice  from  below  hailed  him : 

"Oh,  you,  Rinky  Dink!" 

Stover  languidly  extended  his  head  and  be- 
held Tough  McCarty. 

"  Hello  there,  Dink." 

"Hello  yourself." 

"Come  over  to  the  Woodhull  and  meet  my 
family." 

"  What ! "  said  Dink  in  consternation. 

"  They're  over  for  the  game.  Hurry  up  now 
and  help  me  out!" 

Dink  tried  frantically  to  call  him  back,  but 
Tough,  as  though  to  shut  off  a  refusal,  disap- 
peared around  the  house.  Dink  returned  to  the 
room  in  a  rage. 

"What's  the  matter?"  said  the  Tennessee 
Shad. 

"  I've  got  to  go  over  and  meet  a  lot  of  women," 
said  Dink  in  disgust.  "Confound  Tough  Mc- 
Carty! That's  a  rotten  trick  to  play  on  me. 
I'll  wring  his  neck !  " 

[315] 


THE   VAEMINT 

"  Go  on  now,  make  yourself  beautiful !  "  said 
the  Tennessee  Shad,  delighted.  "  Remember  the 
whole  school  will  be  watching  you." 

"  Shut  up ! "  said  Dink  savagely,  making  the 
grand  toilet,  which  consisted  in  putting  on  a 
high  collar,  exchanging  his  belt  for  a  pair  of 
suspenders  and  donning  a  pair  of  patent- 
leathers.  "  The  place  for  women  is  at  home! 
It's  an  outrage ! " 

He  tied  his  necktie  with  a  vicious  lunge,  ran 
the  comb  once  through  the  tangled  hair,  glanced 
at  his  hands,  decided  that  they  would  pass  mus- 
ter, slapped  on  his  hat  and  went  out,  kicking  the 
door  open. 

At  the  Woodhull,  Tough  hailed  him  from  his 
window.  Dink  went  up,  bored  and  rebellious. 
The  door  opened,  he  found  himself  in  Tough 
McCarty's  room  in  the  vortex  of  a  crowd  of  fel- 
low-sufferers. Over  by  the  window-seat  two  fluffy 
figures,  with  skirts  and  hats  on,  were  seated. 
He  shook  hands  with  both;  one  was  Mrs.  Mc- 
Carty,  the  other  was  the  daughter,  he  wasn't 
quite  sure  which.  He  said  something  about 
the  delight  which  the  meeting  afforded  him, 
and,  gravitating  into  a  corner,  fell  upon 
Butsey  White,  with  whom  he  gravely  shook 
hands. 

"Isn't  this  awful?"  said  Butsey  in  a  confi- 
dential whisper. 

[316] 


THE   VARMINT 

"Frightful!" 

"What  the  deuce's  got  into  Tough?" 

"It's  a  rotten  trick!" 

"Let's  hook  it." 

"All  right.     Slide  toward  the  door." 

But  at  this  moment,  when  deliverance  seemed 
near,  Tough  bore  down  and,  taking  Stover  by 
the  arm,  drew  him  aside. 

"  I  say,  stick  by  me  on  this,  old  man,"  he  said 
desperately.  "  Take  ?em  to  the  game  with  me, 
will  you?  " 

"  To  the  game ! "  cried  Dink  in  horror.  "  Oh, 
Tough,  come  now,  I  say,  I'm  no  fusser.  I'm 
tongue-tied  and  pigeon-toed.  Oh,  I  say,  old 
man,  do  get  some  one  else ! " 

But  as  Tough  McCarty  kept  a  firm  grip  on  the 
lapel  of  his  coat  Dink  suddenly  found  himself, 
with  the  departure  of  the  other  guests,  a  help- 
less captive.  The  first  painful  scraps  of  conver- 
sation passed  in  a  blur.  Before  he  knew  it  he 
was  crossing  the  campus,  actually  walking,  in 
full  view  of  the  school,  at  the  side  of  Miss  Mc- 
Carty. 

Her  unconsciousness  was  paralyzing,  per- 
fectly paralyzing!  Dink,  struggling  for  a  word 
in  the  vast  desert  of  his  brain,  was  overwhelmed 
with  the  ease  with  which  his  companion  ran  on. 
He  stole  a  glance  under  the  floating  azure  veil 
and  decided,  from  the  way  the  brilliant  blue 
[317] 


THE    VARMINT 

parasol  swung  from  her  hand,  that  she  must  be 
a  woman  of  the  world — thirty,  at  least. 

He  extracted  his  hands  precipitately  from 
the  trousers  pockets  in  which  they  had  been 
plunged  and  buttoned  the  last  button  of  his 
coat.  Somehow,  his  hands  seemed  to  wander 
all  over  his  anatomy,  like  jibs  that  had  broken 
loose.  He  tried  to  clasp  them  behind  his  back, 
like  the  Doctor,  or  to  insert  one  between  the  first 
and  second  button  of  his  coat,  the  character- 
istic pose  of  the  great  Corsican,  according  to 
his  history.  For  a  moment  he  found  relief  by 
slipping  them,  English  fashion,  into  his  coat 
pockets;  but  at  the  thought  of  being  detected 
thus  by  the  Tennessee  Shad  he  withdrew  them 
as  though  he  had  struck  a  hornet's  nest. 

The  school,  meanwhile,  had  gamboled  past,  all 
snickering,  of  course,  at  his  predicament.  In 
this  state  of  utter  misery  he  arrived  at  last  at 
the  field,  where,  to  his  amazement,  quite  a  group 
of  Fifth-Formers  came  up  and  surrounded  Miss 
McCarty,  chattering  in  the  most  bewildering 
manner.  Dink  seized  the  opportunity  to  drop 
back,  draw  a  long  sigh,  reach  madly  behind  for 
his  necktie,  which  had  climbed  perilously  near 
the  edge  of  his  collar,  and  shoot  back  his  cuffs. 
He  saw  the  Tennessee  Shad  and  Dennis  de 
Boru  grinning  at  him  from  the  crowd,  and 
showed  them  his  fist  with  a  threatening  gesture. 
[318] 


THE   VARMINT 

Then  the  game  began  and  he  was  seated  by 
Miss  McCarty,  unutterably  relieved  that  the 
tension  of  the  contest  had  diverted  the  entire 
attention  of  the  school  from  his  particular  suf- 
ferings. 

The  excitement  of  the  play  for  the  first  time 
gave  him  an  opportunity  to  study  his  compan- 
ion. His  first  estimate  was  undoubtedly  cor- 
rect; she  was  plainly  a  woman  of  the  world. 
No  one  else  could  sit  at  such  perfect  ease,  the 
cynosure  of  so  many  eyes.  Her  dress  was  some 
wonderful  creation,  from  Paris,  no  doubt,  that 
rustled  with  an  alluring  sound  and  gave  forth 
a  pleasant  perfume. 

The  more  he  looked  the  more  his  eye  approved. 
She  was  quite  unusual — quite.  She  had  style — 
a  very  impressive  style.  He  had  never  before 
remembered  any  one  who  held  herself  quite  so 
well,  or  whose  head  carried  itself  so  regally. 
There  was  something  Spanish,  too,  about  her 
black  hair  and  eyes  and  the  flush  of  red  in  her 
cheeks. 

Having  perceived  all  this  Dink  began  to  re- 
cover from  his  panic  and,  with  a  desire  to  wipe 
out  his  past  awkwardness,  began  busily  to 
search  for  some  subject  with  which  gracefully 
to  open  up  the  conversation. 

At  that  moment  his  eye  fell  upon  his  boot  care- 
lessly displayed  and,  to  his  horror,  beheld  there 
[319] 


THE    VARMINT 

a  gaping  crack.  This  discovery  drove  all  desire 
for  conversation  at  once  out  of  his  head.  By 
a  covert  movement  he  drew  the  offending  shoe 
up  under  the  shadow  of  the  other. 

"You  hate  this,  don't  you?"  said  a  laughing 
voice. 

He  turned,  blushing,  to  find  Miss  McCarty's 
dark  eyes  alive  with  amusement. 

"Oh,  now,  I  say,  really "  he  began. 

"  Of  course,  you  loathe  being  dragged  out  this 
way,"  she  said,  cutting  in.  "  Confess !  " 

Dink  began  to  laugh  guiltily. 

"  That's  better,"  said  Miss  McCarty  approv- 
ingly. "Now  we  shall  get  on  better." 

"  How  did  you  know? "  said  Dink,  immensely 
mystified. 

Miss  McCarty  wisely  withheld  this  informa- 
tion, and  before  he  knew  it  Dink  was  in  the 
midst  of  a  conversation,  all  his  embarrassment 
forgot.  The  game  ended — it  had  never  been 
really  important — and  Dink  found  himself,  ac- 
tually to  his  regret,  moving  toward  the 
Lodge. 

There,  as  he  was  saying  good-by  with  a  Ches- 
terfieldian  air,  Tough  plucked  him  by  the  sleeve. 

"I  say,  Dink,  old  man,"  he  said  doubtfully, 
"  I'd  like  you  to  come  over  and  grub  with  us. 
But  I  don't  want  to  haul  you  over,  you 

know '" 

[  320  ] 


THE   VARMINT 

"  My  dear  boy,  I  should  love  to !  "  said  Dink, 
squeezing  his  arm  eagerly. 

"Honest?" 

"  Straight  goods ! " 

"Bully  for  you!" 

He  had  three-quarters  of  an  hour  to  dress 
before  dinner.  He  went  to  his  room  at  a  gallop, 
upsetting  Beekstein  and  Gumbo  on  his  volcanic 
way  upward.  Then  for  half  an  hour  the  Ken- 
nedy was  thrown  into  a  turmoil  as  the  half- 
clothed  figure  of  Dink  Stover  flitted  from  room 
to  room,  burrowed  into  closets,  ransacked  bu- 
reaus and  departed,  bearing  off  the  choicest  ar- 
ticles of  wearing  apparel.  Meanwhile,  the  cor- 
ridors resounded  with  such  unintelligible  cries 
as  these : 

"  Who's  got  a  collar,  fourteen  and  a  half?  " 

"  Darn  you,  Dink,  bring  back  my  pants !  " 

"  Who  swiped  my  blue  coat  ?  " 

"Who's  been  pulling  my  things  to  pieces?" 

"  Hi  there,  bring  back  my  shoes ! " 

"Dinged  if  he  hasn't  gone  off  with  my  cuff 
buttons,  too!" 

"Oh  you  robber!" 

"Body  snatcher!" 

"Dink,  the  fusser!" 

"  Who'd  have  believed  it ! " 

Meanwhile,  Dink,  returning  to  his  room  laden 
with  the  spoils  of  the  house,  proceeded  to  adorn 
[321] 


THE   VARMINT 

himself  on  the  principle  of  selection,  discarding 
the  Gutter  Pup's  trousers  for  the  gala  breeches 
of  the  Tennesse  Shad,  donning  the  braided  cuta- 
way of  Lovely  Mead's  in  preference  to  an  affair 
of  Slush  Randolph's  which  was  too  tight  in  the 
chest. 

The  Tennessee  Shad,  the  Gutter  Pup  and  Den- 
nis de  Brian  de  Bom  watched  the  proceedings, 
brownie  fashion,  across  the  transom,  volunteer- 
ing advice. 

"  Why,  look  at  Dink  wash !  " 

"  It's  a  regular  annual,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Look  out  for  my  pants ! " 

"  I  say,  Dink,  your  theory's  wrong.  You  want 
to  begin  by  parting  your  hair — soak  it  into  place, 
you  know." 

Stover,  struck  by  this  expert  advice,  ap- 
proached the  mirror  and  seized  his  comb  and 
brush  with  determination.  But  the  liberties  of 
a  rebellious  people,  unmolested  for  sixteen  years, 
were  not  to  be  suddenly  abolished.  The  more  he 
brushed  the  more  the  indignant  locks  rose  up  in 
revolt.  He  broke  the  comb  and  threw  it  down 
angrily. 

"  Wet  your  hair,"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad. 

"  Soak  it  in  water,"  said  the  Gutter  Pup. 

"Soak  it  in  witch-hazel,"  said  Dennis.  "It 
will  make  it  more  fragrant. 

Dink  hesitated: 

[322] 


THE   VARMINT 

"Won't  it  smell  too  much?" 

"  Naw.    It  evaporates." 

Stover  seized  the  bottle  and  inundated  his 
head,  made  an  exact  part  in  the  middle  and 
drew  the  sides  back  in  the  fashion  of  pigeon 
wings. 

"  Now  clap  on  a  dicer,"  said  the  Gutter  Pup 
approvingly,  "  and  she'll  come  up  and  feed  from 
your  hand." 

"Are  you  really  in  love?"  said  Dennis  softly. 

Stover,  ignoring  all  comments,  tied  a  white 
satin  four-in-hand  with  forget-me-not  emboss- 
ings, which  had  struck  his  fancy  in  Fatty  Har- 
ris' room,  and  inserted  a  stick-pin  of  Finne- 
gan's. 

"You  ought  to  have  a  colored  handkerchief 
to  stick  in  your  breast  pocket,"  said  the  Gutter 
Pup,  who  began  to  yield  to  the  excitement. 

"Up  his  sleeve  is  more  English,  don't  you 
know,"  said  Dennis. 

Stover  stood  brazenly  before  the  mirror,  look- 
ing himself  over.  The  scrubbing  he  had  in- 
flicted on  his  face  had  left  red,  shining  spots  in 
prominent  places,  while  his  hair,  slicked  back 
and  plastered  down,  gave  him  somewhat  the 
look  of  an  Italian  barber  on  a  Sunday  off.  He 
felt  the  general  glistening  effect  without,  in  his 
innocence,  knowing  the  remedy. 

"  Dink,  you  are  bee-oo-tiful ! "  said  Dennis. 
[323] 


THE   VARMINT 

"  Be  careful  how  you  sit  down,"  said  the  Ten- 
nessee Shad,  thinking  of  the  trousers. 

"How  are  the  shoes?"  asked  the  Gutter  Pup 
solicitously. 

"Tight  as  mischief,"  said  Dink,  with  a  wry 
face. 

"Walk  on  your  heels." 

Stover,  with  a  last  deprecating  glance,  opened 
the  door  and  departed,  amid  cheers  from  the  con- 
tributing committee. 

When  he  arrived  at  the  Lodge  the  dusky  wait- 
ress who  opened  the  door  started  back,  as  he 
dropped  his  hat,  and  sniffed  the  air.  He  went 
into  the  parlor,  spoiling  his  carefully-planned 
entrance  by  tripping  over  the  rug. 

"Heavens!"  said  Tough,  "what  a  smell  of 
witch-hazel.  Why,  it's  Dink.  What  have  you 
been  doing?  " 

Stover  felt  the  temperature  rise  to  boiling. 

"We  had  a  bit  of  a  shindy,"  he  said  desper- 
ately, trying  to  give  it  a  tragic  accent,  "  and  I 
bumped  my  head." 

"Well,  you  look  like  a  skinned  rat,"  said 
Tough  to  put  him  thoroughly  at  his  ease. 

The  angel,  however,  came  to  his  rescue  with 
solicitous  inquiries  and  with  such  a  heavenly 
look  that  Stover  only  regretted  that  he  could 
not  appear  completely  done  up  in  bandages. 

They  went  in  to  dinner,  where  Dink  was  so 
[324] 


THE    VARMINT 

overwhelmed  by  the  vision  of  Miss  McCarty  in 
all  her  transcendent  charms  that  the  effort  of 
swallowing  became  a  painful  physical  operation. 

Afterward,  Tough  and  his  mother  went  over 
to  Foundation  House  for  a  visit  with  the  Doc- 
tor, and  Dink  found  himself  actually  alone, 
escorting  Miss  McCarty  about  the  grounds  in 
the  favoring  dusk  of  the  fast-closing  twilight. 

"  Let's  go  toward  the  Green  House,"  she  said. 
"Will  you  take  my  cloak?" 

The  cloak  settled  the  perplexing  question  of 
the  hands.  He  wondered  uneasily  why  she 
chose  that  particular  direction. 

"Are  you  sure  you  want  to  go  there?"  he 
said. 

"  Quite,"  she  said.  "  I  want  to  see  the  exact 
spot  where  the  historic  fight  took  place." 

iStover  moved  uneasily. 

"Dear  me,  what's  the  matter?" 

"  I  never  go  there.    I  hate  the  place." 

"Why?" 

"  I  was  miserable  there,"  said  Dink  abruptly. 
"Hasn't  Tough  told  you  about  it?" 

"  Tell  me  yourself,"  said  the  angelic  voice. 

Stover  felt  on  the  instant  the  most  overpow- 
ering desire  to  confide  his  whole  life's  history, 
and  being  under  the  influence  of  a  genuine  emo- 
tion as  well  as  aided  by  the  obliterating  hour,  he 
began  straight  forward  to  relate  the  story  of  his 
[325] 


THE   YARMINT 

months  of  Coventry  in  tense,  direct  sentences, 
without  pausing  to  calculate  either  their  vivid- 
ness or  their  effect.  Once  started,  he  withheld 
nothing,  neither  the  agony  of  his  pride  nor  the 
utter  hopelessness  of  that  isolation.  Once  or 
twice  he  hesitated,  blurting  out: 

"I  say,  does  this  bore  you?" 

And  each  time  she  answered  quickly: 

"No,  no — go  on." 

They  went  back  in  the  fallen  night  to  the 
campus,  and  there  he  pointed  out  the  spot  where 
he  had  stood  and  listened  to  the  singing  on  the 
Esplanade  and  made  up  his  mind  to  return. 
All  at  once,  his  story  ended  and  he  perceived,  to 
his  utter  confusion,  that  he  had  been  pouring 
out  his  heart  to  some  one  whose  face  he  couldn't 
see,  some  one  who  was  probably  smiling  at  his 
impetuous  confidence,  some  one  wrhom  he  had 
met  only  a  few  hours  before. 

"  Oh,  I  say,"  he  said  in  horror,  "  you  must 
think  me  an  awful  fool  to  go  on  like  this." 

"No." 

"You  made  me  tell  you,  you  know,"  he  said 
miserably,  wondering  what  she  could  think  of 
him.  "  I  never  Balked  like  this  before — to  any 
one.  I  don't  know  what  made  me  confide  in 
you." 

This  was  untrue,  for  he  knew  perfectly  well 
wrhat  had  led  him  to  speak.  So  did  she  and, 
[326] 


THE    VARMINT 

knowing  full  well  what  was  working  in  the 
tense,  awkward  boy  beside  her,  she  had  no 
feeling  of  offense,  being  at  an  age  when  such 
tributes,  when  genuine,  are  valued^  not 
scorned. 

"  I  can  just  feel  how  you  felt — poor  boy,"  she 
said,  perhaps  not  entirely  innocent  of  the  effect 
of  her  words.  "But  then,  you  have  won  out, 
haven't  you?" 

"I  suppose  I  have,"  said  Stover,  almost  suf- 
focated by  the  gentleness  of  her  voice. 

"  Charlie's  told  me  all  about  the  rest,"  she 
said.  "Every  one  looks  up  to  you  now — it's 
quite  a  romance,  isn't  it?" 

He  was  delighted  that  she  saw  it  thus,  secretly 
wondering  if  she  really  knew  every  point  that 
could  be  urged  in  his  favor. 

"  I  suppose  I'll  kick  myself  all  over  the  lot 
to-morrow,"  he  said,  choosing  to  be  lugubrious. 

"Why?"  she  said,  stopping  in  surprise. 

"  For  talking  as  I've  done." 

"  You  don't  regret  it?  "  she  said  softly,  laying 
her  hand  on  his  arm. 

Stover  drew  a  long  breath — a  difficult  one. 

"  No,  you  bet  I  don't,"  he  said  abruptly.  "  I'd 
tell  you  anything!" 

"Come,"  she  said,  smiling  to  herself,  "we 
must  go  back — but  it's  so  fascinating  here, 
isn't  it?" 

[327] 


THE   VARMINT 

He  thought  he  had  offended  her  and  was  in 
a  panic. 

"I  say,  you  did  not  understand  what  I 
meant." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  did." 

"You're  not  offended?" 

«  Not  at  all." 

This  answer  left  Stover  in  such  a  state  of  be- 
wilderment that  all  speech  expired.  What  did 
she  mean  by  that?  Did  she  really  understand 
or  not? 

They  walked  a  little  way  in  silence,  watching 
the  lights  that  fell  in  long  lines  across  the 
campus,  hearing  through  the  soft  night  the 
tinkling  of  mandolins  and  the  thrumming  of 
guitars,  a  vibrant,  feverish  life  that  suddenly 
seemed  unreal  to  him.  They  were  fast  ap- 
proaching the  Lodge.  A  sudden  fear  came  to 
him  that  she  would  go  without  understanding 
what  the  one,  the  only  night  had  been  in  his 
life. 

"  I  say,  Miss  McCarty,"  he  began  desperately. 

«  yes." 

"I  wish  I  could  tell  you " 

"What?" 

"  I  wish  I  could  tdl  you  just  what  a  privilege 
it's  been  to  meet  you." 

"  Oh,  that's  very  nice." 
[328] 


THE  -VARMINT 

He  felt  he  had  failed.  He  had  not  expressed 
himself  well.  She  did  not  understand. 

"  I  shall  never  forget  it,"  he  said,  plunging 
ahead. 

She  stopped  a  little  guiltily  and  looked  at 
him. 

"You  queer  boy,"  she  said,  too  pleasantly 
moved  to  be  severe.  "  You  queer,  romantic 
boy!  Why,  of  course  you're  going  to  visit  us 
this  summer,  and  we're  going  to  be  good  chums, 
aren't  we?" 

He  did  not  answer. 

"Aren't  we?  "  she  repeated,  amused  at  a  situa- 
tion that  was  not  entirely  strange. 

"No!"  he  said  abruptly,  amazed  at  his  own 
audacity;  and  with  an  impulse  that  he  had  not 
suspected  he  closed  the  conversation  and  led  the 
way  to  the  Lodge. 

When  at  last  he  and  Tough  were  homeward 
bound  he  felt  he  should  die  if  he  did  not  then 
and  there  learn  certain ,  things.  So  he  began 
with  Machiavellian  adroitness: 

"  I  say,  Tough,  what  a  splendid  mother  you've 
got.  I  didn't  get  half  a  chance  to  talk  to  her. 
I  say,  how  long  will  she  be  here?" 

"They're  going  over  to  Princeton  first  thing 
in  the  morning,"  said  Tough,  who  was  secretly 
relieved. 

[329] 


THE    VARMINT 

A  button  on  the  borrowed  vest  popped  with 
Stover's  emotion. 

"  How  did  you  get  on  with  Sis?  " 

"First  rate.  She's — she's  awful  sensible," 
said  Dink. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  suppose  so." 

"I  say,"  said  Dink,  seeing  that  he  made  no 
progress,  "  she's  been  all  around — had  lots  of 
experience,  hasn't  she?  " 

"  Oh,  she's  bounded  about  a  bit." 

"Still,  she  doesn't  seem  much  older  than 
you,"  said  Dink  craftily. 

"  Sis — oh,  she's  a  bit  older." 

"About  twenty-two,  I  should  say,"  said  Dink 
hopefully. 

"  Twenty-four,  my  boy,"  said  Tough  unfeel- 
ingly. "But  I  say,  don't  give  it  away ;  she'd 
bite  and  scratch  me  all  over  the  map  for  telling." 

Stover  left  him  without  daring  to  ask  any 
more  questions — he  knew  what  he  wanted  to 
know.  He  could  not  go  to  his  room,  he  could 
not  face  the  Tennessee  Shad,  possessor  of  the 
trousers.  He  wanted  to  be  alone — to  wander 
over  the  unseen  earth,  to  gulp  in  the  gentle  air 
in  long,  feverish  breaths,  to  think  over  what  she 
had  said,  to  grow  hot  and  cold  at  the  thought  of 
hk  daring,  to  reconstruct  the  world  of  yesterday 
and  organize  the  new. 

He  went  to  the  back  of  chapel  and  sat  down 
[330] 


THE   VARMINT 

on  the  cool  steps,  under  the  impenetrable  clouds 
of  the  night. 

"  She's  twenty-four,  only  twenty-four,"  he  said 
to  himself.  "I'm,  sixteen,  almost  seventeen — 
that's  only  seven  years'  difference." 


[331] 


XXII 

When  Stover  awoke  the  next  morning  it 
was  to  the  light  of  the  blushing  day.  He 
thought  of  the  events  of  the  night  before  and 
sprang  up  in  horror.  What  had  he  been  think- 
ing of?  He  had  made  an  ass  of  himself,  a  com- 
plete, egregious  ass.  What  had  possessed  him? 
He  looked  at  himself  in  the  glass  and  his  heart 
sunk  at  the  thought  of  what  she  must  be  think- 
ing. He  was  glad  she  was  going.  He  did  not 
want  to  see  her  again.  He  would  never  visit 
Tough  McCarty.  Thank  Heaven  it  was  day- 
light again  and  he  had  recovered  his  senses. 

Indignant  at  every  one,  himself  most  of  all, 
he  went  to  chapel  and  to  recitations,  profoundly 
thankful  that  he  would  not  have  to  face  her 
in  the  mocking  light  of  the  day.  That  he  never 
could  have  done,  never,  never! 

As  he  left  second  recitation  Tough  McCarty 
joined  him. 

"  I  say,  Dink,  they  both  wanted  to  be  remem- 
bered to  you,  and  here's  a  note  from  Sis." 

"A  note?" 

"Here  it  is." 

Stover  stood  staring  at  a  violet  envelope,  in- 
[332] 


THE   VARMINT 

scribed  in  large,  flowing  letters :  "  Mr.  John  H. 
Stover." 

Then  he  put  it  in  his  pocket  hastily  and  went 
to  his  room.  Luckily  the  Tennessee  Shad  was 
poaching  in  the  village.  He  locked  the  door, 
secured  the  transom  and  drew  out  the  note.  It 
was  sealed  with  a  crest  and  perfumed  with  a 
heavenly  scent.  He  held  it  in  his  hand  a  long 
while,  convulsively,  and  then  broke  the  seal  with 
an  awkward  finger  and  read : 

Dear  Mr.  Stover:  Just  a  word  to  thank  you 
for  being  my  faithful  cavalier.  Don't  forget 
that  you  are  to  pay  us  a  good,  long  visit  this 
summer,  and  that  we  are  to  become  the  best  of 
chums. 

Your  very  good  friend, 

JOSEPHINE  MCCARTY. 

P.  S.  Don't  dare  to  "kick  yourself  about 
the  place,"  whatever  that  may  mean. 

When  Dink  had  read  this  through  once  he 
immediately  began  it  again.  The  second  read- 
ing left  him  mtore  bewildered  than  ever.  It  was 
the  first  time  he  had  come  in  contact  with  a 
manifestation  of  the  workings  of  the  feminine 
mind.  What  did  she  intend  him  to  understand  ? 

"  I'll  read  it  again,"  he  said,  perching  on  the 
back  of  a  chair.  "  Dear  Mr.  Stover ! "  He 
[333] 


THE   VARMINT 

stopped  and  considered.  "  My  dear  Mr.  Stover — 
Dear  Mr.  Stover — well,  that's  all  right.  But 
what  the  deuce  does  she  mean  by  '  faithful  cava- 
lier ' — I  wonder  now,  I  wonder.  She  wants  me 
to  visit  her — she  can't  be  offended  then.  *  Your 
very  good  friend,'  underlined  twice,  that  sounds 
as  though  she  wanted  to  warn  me.  Undoubtedly 
I  made  a  fool  of  myself  and  this  is  her  angelic 
way  of  letting  me  down.  '  Friend ' — under- 
lined twice — of  course  that's  it.  What  a  bloom- 
ing, sentimental,  moon-struck  jay  I  was.  Gee, 
I  could  kick  myself  to  Jericho  and  back ! "  But 
here  his  eye  fell  on  the  postscript  and  his  jaw 
dropped.  "Now  how  did  she  guess  that?  That 
sounds  different  from  the  rest,  as  though — as 
though  she  understood." 

He  went  to  the  window  frowning,  and  then 
to  the  mirror,  with  a  new  interest  in  this  new 
Mr.  John  H.  Stover  who  received  perplexing 
notes  on  scented  paper. 

"  I  must  get  some  decent  collars,"  he  said 
pensively.  "  How  the  deuce  does  Lovely  Mead 
keep  his  tie  tight — mine's  always  slipping  down, 
showing  the  stud."  He  changed  his  collar,  hav- 
ing detected  a  smirch,  and  tried  the  effect  of 
parting  his  hair  on  the  side,  like  Garry  Cockrell. 

"  She's  a  wonderful  woman — wonderful,"  he 
said  softly,  taking  up  the  letter  again.  "What 
eyes!  Reminds  me  of  Lorna  Doone.  Josephine 
[334] 


THE   VARMINT 

— so  that's  her  name,  Josephine — it's  a  beautiful 
name.  I  wish  the  deuce  I  knew  just  what  she 
did  mean  by  this !  " 

By  nightfall  he  had  written  a  dozen  answers 
which  had  been  torn  up  in  a  panic  as  soon  as 
written.  Finally,  he  determined  that  the  craf- 
tiest way  would  be  to  send  her  his  remembrances 
by  Tough — that  would  express  everything  as 
well  as  show  her  that  he  could  be  both  discreet 
and  dignified. 

In  the  afternoon  he  added  a  dozen  extra  high 
collars  to  his  wardrobe  and  examined  hesitat- 
ingly the  counter  of  Gent's  Bon-Ton  socks, 
spring  styles,  displayed  at  Bill  Appleby's. 

The  collars,  the  latest  cut,  he  tried  on  sur- 
reptitiously. They  were  uncomfortable  and  pro- 
jected into  his  chin,  but  there  was  no  question 
of  the  superior  effect.  Suddenly  a  new  element 
in  the  school  came  to  his  notice — fellows  like 
Lovely  Mead,  Jock  Hasbrouk  and  Dudy  Eankin, 
who  wore  tailor-made  clothes,  rainbow  cravats, 
who  always  looked  immaculate  and  whose  trou- 
sers never  bagged  at  the  knees. 

No  sooner  was  this  borne  in  upon  him  than 
he  was  appalled  at  the  state  of  his  wardrobe. 
He  had  outgrown  everything.  Everything  he 
had  bagged  at  the  elbows  as  well  as  the  knees. 
His  neckties  were  frazzeled  and  his  socks  were 
all  earthy-browns  and  oat-meal  grays. 
[335] 


THE   VARMINT 

His  first  step  was  to  buy  a  blacking  brush  and 
his  next  to  press  his  trousers  under  his  mattress, 
with  the  result  that,  being  detected  and  diverted 
by  Dennis,  they  appeared  next  morning  with  a 
cross-gartered  effect. 

At  nights,  especially  moonlight  nights,  under 
pretense  of  insomnia,  he  drew  his  bed  to  the 
open  window  and  gazed  sentimentally  into  the 
suddenly  discovered  starry  system. 

"What  the  deuce  are  you  mooning  about?" 
said  the  Tennessee  Shad  on  the  first  occasion. 

"  I'm  studying  astronomy,"  said  Dink  with 
dignity. 

The  Tennessee  Shad  gave  a  snort  and  soon 
went  loudly  off  to  sleep. 

Dink,  unmolested,  soared  away  into  his  own 
domain.  It  is  true  that,  having  read  Peter  Ib- 
betson,  he  tried  for  a  week  to  emulate  that  fa- 
vored dreamer,  throwing  his  arms  up,  clasping 
his  hands  behind  his  head  and  being  most  parti- 
cular in  the  crossing  of  the  feet.  He  dreamed, 
but  only  discouraging,  tantalizing  dreams,  and 
the  figure  his  magic  summoned  up  was  not  the 
angelic  one,  but  invariably  the  elfish  eyes  and 
star-pointing  nose  of  Dennis  de  Brian  de  Boru 
Finnegan. 

But  the  dreams  that  lay  like  shadows  between 
the  faltering  eyelids  and  the  shut  were  real  and 
magic.  Then  all  the  difficulties  were  swept 
[336] 


THE   VAKMINT 

away,  no  cold  chill  ran  up  Ms  back  to  stay  the 
words  that  rushed  to  his  lips.  Conversations 
to  defy  the  novelist  were  spun  out  and,  having 
periodically  saved  her  from  a  hundred  malig- 
nant deaths,  he  continued  each  night  anew  the 
heroic  work  of  rescue  with  unsatiated  delight. 
At  times,  in  the  throbs  of  the  sacred  passion, 
he  thought  with  a  start  of  his  blackened  past 
and  the  tendencies  to  crime  within  him. 

"  Lord ! "  he  said  with  a  gasp,  thinking  of  the 
orgy  in  beer,  "  what  would  have  become  of  me — 
it's  like  an  act  of  Providence.  I  wish  I  could 
let  her  know  what  a — what  a  good  influence 
she's  been.  I  d-on't  know  what  I'd  'a'  done — 
if  I  hadn't  met  her!  I  was  in  a  dreadful 
way !  " 

By  this  time,  having  had  the  advantage  of 
countless  midnight  walks,  not  to  mention  the 
familiarizing  effect  of  several  scores  of  desperate 
adventures,  the  character  of  Miss  Lorna  Doone 
McCarty  had  been  completely  unfolded  to  the 
reverential  Dink.  He  saw  her,  he  conversed 
with  her,  he  knew  her.  She  was  a  sort  of  heav- 
enly being,  misunderstood  by  her  family — espe- 
cially her  brother,  who  had  not  the  slightest  com- 
prehension. She  was  like  Dante's  Beatrice,  as 
the  pictures,  not  the  dreadful  text,  represent 
that  lady — and  only  seven  years  older  than  Mr. 
John  H.  Stover.  There  was  Napoleon,  who  had 
[337] 


THE    VARMINT 

married  a  woman  older  than  he  was — Napoleon 
and  hosts  of  others. 

With  the  sudden  fear  of  being  dropped  a  year 
he  began  to  study  with  such  assiduity  that,  as 
is  the  way  with  newly-sprouted  virtue  in  a  cyni- 
cal world,  his  motives  were  suspected  by  the 
masters,  who,  of  course,  could  know  nothing  of 
the  divine  transformation,  and  by  his  classmates, 
who  secretly  credited  him  with  some  new 
method  of  cribbing. 

Meanwhile,  as  the  year  neared  its  close,  the 
inventive  minds  of  Dennis  de  Brian  de  Boru 
Finnegan  and  the  Tennessee  Shad  conceived  the 
idea  of  a  monster  mass  meeting  and  illustrative 
parade,  which  should  down  the  hereditary  foe — 
the  steam  laundry. 

Up  to  this  time  the  columns  of  The  Lawrence 
had  been  flooded  with  communications  couched 
in  the  style  of  the  oration  against  Catiline,  de- 
manding to  know  how  long  the  supine  Lawrence- 
ville  boy  would  bear  in  silence  the  return  of  his 
shirt  with  added  entrances  and  exits,  and  col- 
lars that  enclosed  the  neck  with  a  cheval-de- 
frise. 

This  verbal,  annual  outbreak  was  succeeded, 
as  usual,  by  House  to  House  mutinies  on  the 
occasion  of  the  arrival  of  the  weekly  boxes,  with- 
out the  protest  taking  further  head  or  front. 
But  at  the  opening  of  the  last  week  of  the  school 
year,  whether  a  machine  had  suddenly  jumped 
[338] 


THE   VARMINT 

its  fences  or  whether  the  ladies  of  the  washtubs 
desired  to  open  the  way  for  the  new  summer 
styles;  however  it  may  have  been,  the  laundry 
returned  like  the  battle  flags  of  the  republic  to 
the  outraged  school.  Windows  were  flung  open 
and  indignant  boys  appeared,  with  white  shreds 
in  hand,  and  vociferously  appealed  to  the  heav- 
ens above  and  the  green  lands  below  for  justice 
and  indemnification. 

A  meeting  of  determined  spirits  was  speedily 
held  under  the  leadership  of  the  Tennessee  Shad 
and  Doc  Macnooder,  and  it  was  decided  that  a 
demonstration  should  take  place  instanter,  the 
Houses  to  form  and  march  with  complete  ex- 
hibits to  the  Upper  House,  where  the  fifth-for- 
mers should  likewise  display  their  grievances 
and  join  them  in  a  mammoth  protest. 

Dink,  at  the  first  sounds  of  martial  organiza- 
tion, pricked  up  his  ears  and  summoned  the  Ten- 
nessee Shad  and  Dennis  de  Brian  de  Boru  Fin- 
negan  to  explain  why  he  had  been  left  out  of 
such  an  important  enterprise. 

"Why  have  we  left  you  out?"  said  the  Ten- 
nessee Shad  indignantly.  "  What's  happened  to 
you  these  last  three  weeks?  You've  had  a  fight- 
ing grouch — no  one  dared  to  speak  to  you  for 
fear  of  being  bitten !  " 

"  In  fact,"  said  Dennis,  with  his  sharp,  little 
glance,  "you  are  under  the  gravest  suspi- 


cion." 


[339] 


THE    VARMINT 

Seeing  his  secret  in  peril,  Stover  assumed  a 
melancholy,  injured  air. 

"  You  don't  know  what  I've  had  to  worry  me," 
he  said,  looking  out  the  window,  "  family  mat- 
ters— financial  reverses." 

"Oh,  I  say,  Dink,  old  boy,"  said  the  Tennes- 
see Shad,  in  instant  contrition. 

"  You  don't  mean  it's  anything  that  might 
keep  you  from  coming  back  next  year?  "  said 
Dennis,  aghast.  "Oh,  Dink!" 

"I  had  rather  not  talk  about  it,"  said  Stover 
solemnly. 

Dennis  and  the  Shad  were  overwhelmed  with 
remorse — they  offered  him  at  once  the  Grand 
Marshalship,  which  he  refused  with  still  of- 
fended dignity,  but  promised  his  fertile  brain  to 
the  common  cause. 

Now  Dink's  sentimental  education,  which  had 
progressed  with  a  rush,  had  just  begun  to  lan- 
guish on  insufficiency  of  food  and  a  little  feel- 
ing of  staleness  on  having  exhausted  the  one 
thousand  and  one  possible  methods  of  saving  a 
heroine's  life  and  wringing  the  consent  of  her 
parents. 

He  felt  a  species  of  guilt  in  the  accusation 
of  his  roommate  and  a  sudden  longing  to  be  back 
among  mannish  pursuits.  In  an  hour,  with  de- 
lighted energy,  he  had  organized  the  banner  and 
effigy  committees  of  the  demonstration  and  had 
[340] 


THE   VARMINT 

helped  concoct  the  fiery  speech  of  protest  that 
Doc  Macnooder,  as  spokesman,  was  solemnly 
pledged  to  deliver  for  the  embattled  school. 

Four  hours  later  the  Kennedy  House,  led  by 
Toots  Cortell  and  his  famous  Confederate  bugle, 
defiled  and  formed  the  head  of  the  procession. 
Each  member  carried  a  pole  attached  to  which 
was  some  article  that  had  been  wholly  or  partly 
shot  to  pieces.  The  Dickinson  contingent,  led 
by  Doc  Macnooder,  marched  in  a  square,  sup- 
porting four  posts  around  which  ran  a  clothes- 
line decked  out  with  the  dreadful  debris  of  the 
house  laundry. 

The  Woodhull  proudly  bore  as  its  battle  flag 
a  few  strings  of  linen  floating  from  a  rake,  with 
this  inscription  underneath: 

THE  GRAND  OLD  SHIRT  OF  THE  WOODHULL! 
WASHED  16  TIMES  AND  STILL  IN  THE  GAME! 

Several  poles,  adorned  with  single  hosing  in 
the  fashion  of  liberty  caps,  were  labeled: 

WHERE  is  MY  WANDERING  SOCK  TO-NIGHT? 

The  Davis  House  was  headed  by  Moses 
Moseby  in  a  tattered  nightshirt,  backed  up  by 
an  irreverent  placard: 

HOLY  MOSES! 
[341] 


THE    VARMINT 

But  the  premier  exhibit  of  the  parade  was 
admitted  by  all  to  be  the  Kennedy  float,  con- 
ceived and  executed  by  the  Honorable  Dink 
Stover. 

On  a  platform  carried  by  eight  hilarious  mem- 
bers, was  displayed  Dennis  de  Brian  de  Boru 
Finnegan,  clothed  in  a  suit  of  dark  gymnasium 
tights,  over  which  were  superimposed  a  mangled 
set  of  upper  and  lower  unmentionables,  whose 
rents  and  cavities  stood  admirably  out  against 
the  dark  background,  while  the  Irishman  sat  on 
a  chair  and  alternately  stuck  a  white  foot 
through  the  bottomless  socks  that  were  fed 
him. 

Above  the  platform  was  the  flaring  ensign: 

RATHER  FRANK  NUDITY  THAN  THIS! 

Now  it  happened  that  at  the  auspicious  mo- 
ment when  Dink  Stover  led  the  apparently 
scantily-clothed  Finnegan  and  the  procession  of 
immodest  banners  around  to  the  Esplanade  of 
the  Upper,  the  Doctor  suddenly  appeared 
through  the  shrubbery  that  screens  Foundation 
House  from  the  rest  of  the  cannpus,  with  a  party 
of  ladies,  relatives,  as  it  unfortunately  happened, 
of  one  of  the  trustees  of  the  school. 

One  glance  of  horror  and  indignation  was 
sufficient  for  him  to  wave  back  the  more  modest 
[342] 


THE   VAEMINT 

sex  and  to  advance  on  the  astounding  procession 
with  fury  and  determination. 

Before  Jove's  awful  look  the  spirit  of  '76  van- 
ished. There  was  a  cry  of  warning  and  the 
hosts  hesitated,  shivered  and  scampered  for 
shelter. 

Now,  at  any  other  time  the  Doctor — who  suf- 
fered, too,  from  the  common  blight — would  have 
secretly  if  not  openly  enjoyed  the  joke;  but  at 
that  moment  the  circumstances  were  admittedly 
trying.  Besides,  there  was  the  delicate  explana- 
tion to  be  offered  to  the  ladies,  who  were  rela- 
tives of  one  of  the  influential  members  of  the 
board  of  trustees  of  the  Lawrenceville  School, 
John  C.  Green  Foundation.  As  a  consequence, 
in  a  towering  rage,  he  summoned  the  ringleaders, 
chief  among  whom  he  had  recognized  Dink  Sto- 
ver and,  corraling  them  in  his  study  that  night, 
exposed  to  them  the  enormity  of  their  offense 
against  the  sex  of  their  mothers  and  sisters,  com- 
mon decency,  morals  and  morality,  the  ideals 
of  the  school,  and  the  hope  that  the  Nation  had 
a  right  to  place  in  a  body  of  young  men  nur- 
tured in  such  homes  and  educated  at  such  an  in- 
stitution. 

The  ringleaders,  being  veterans,  viewed  the 
speech  from  the  point  of  view  of  artists,  and 
were  unanimous  in  their  appreciation.  The  epi- 
sode had  for  Stover,  however,  unfortunate  com- 
[343] 


THE   VARMINT 

plications.  With  the  closing  of  the  scholastic 
season  came  the  elections  in  the  Houses.  The 
Kennedy  House,  unanimously  and  with  much 
enthusiasm,  chose  the  Honorable  Honest  John 
Stover  to  succeed  the  Honorable  King  Lentz  as 
administrator  and  benevolent  despot  for  the  en- 
suing year. 

This  election,  coming  as  it  did  as  a  complete 
surprise  to  Stover,  was  naturally  a  source  of 
deep  gratification.  His  enjoyment,  however, 
was  rudely  shocked  when,  the  next  morning 
after  chapel,  the  Doctor  stopped  him  and  said : 

"Stover,  I  am  considerably  surprised  at  the 
choice  of  the  Kennedy  House  and  I  am  not  at 
all  sure  that  I  shall  ratify  it.  Nothing  in  your 
career  has  indicated  to  me  your  fitness  for  such 
a  place  of  responsibility.  I  shall  have  a  further 
talk  with  Mr.  Hopkins  and  let  him  know  my  de- 
cision." 

The  Eoman!  Of  course  it  was  The  Roman! 
Of  course  he  had  been  raging  at  the  thought  of 
his  elevation  to  the  presidency!  Dink,  forget- 
ting the  hundred  and  one  times  he  had  met  the 
Faculty  in  the  Monday  afternoon  deliberations, 
rushed  out  to  spread  the  news  of  The  Roman's 
vindictive  persecution.  Every  one  was  indig- 
nant, outraged  at  this  crowning  insult  to  a  free 
electorate.  The  whole  House  would  protest  en 
masse  if  the  despot's  veto  was  exercised. 
[344] 


NOTHING  IN  YOUR  CAREER  HAS  INDICATED  TO  ME 
YOUR  FITNESS  FOR  SUCH  A  PLACE 
OF  RESPONSIBILITY" 


THE   VARMINT 

At  the  hour  of  these  angry  threats  The  Roman, 
persecutor  of  Dink,  was  actually  saying  to  the 
tyrant : 

"  Doctor,  I  think  it  would  be  the  best  thing — 
the  very  best.  It  will  bring  out  the  manli- 
ness, the  serious  earnestness  that  is  in  the 
boy." 

"What,  you  say  that!"  said  the  Doctor,  a 
little  impatiently,  for  it  was  only  the  morrow 
of  the  parade.  "  I  should  think  your  patience 
would  be  exhausted.  The  scamp  has  been  in 
more  mischief  than  any  other  boy  in  the  school. 
He's  incorrigibly  wild !  " 

"No — no.  I  shouldn't  say  that.  Very  high 
spirited — excess  of  energy — too  much  imagina- 
tion— that's  all.  There's  nothing  vicious  about 
the  boy." 

"But  as  president,  Hopkins,  not  as  presi- 
dent!" 

"  No  one  better,"  said  The  Roman  firmly. 
"The  boy  is  bound  to  lead.  I  know  what's  in 
him — he  will  rise  to  his  responsibility.  Doctor, 
you  will  see.  I  have  never  lost  confidence  in 
him." 

The  Doctor,  unconvinced,  debated  at  length 
before  acceding.  When  he  finally  gave  his  rati- 
fication he  added  with  a  smile: 

"  Well,  Hopkins,  I  do  this  on  your  judgment. 
You  may  be  right,  we  shall  see.  By  the  way, 
[345] 


THE   YARMIXT 

Stover  must  have  led  you  quite  a  dance  over  in 
the  Kennedy.     What  is  it  you  like  in  him?  " 

The  Roman  reflected  and  then,  his  eye  twitch- 
ing reminiscently : 

"  Fearlessness/'  he  said,  "  and — and  a  diaboli- 
cal imagination." 

When  The  Roman  returned  to  the  Kennedy  he 
summoned  Stover  to  his  study.  He  knew  that 
Dink  misunderstood  his  attitude  and  he  would 
have  liked  to  enlighten  him.  Unfortunately, 
complete  confidence  in  such  cases  is  sometimes 
as  embarrassing  as  the  relations  between  father 
and  son.  The  Roman,  pondering,  twisted  a 
paper-cutter  and  frowned  in  front  of  him, 

"Stover,"  he  said  at  last.  "I  have  talked 
with  the  Doctor.  He  has  seen  best  to  approve 
of  your  election." 

Dink,  of  course,  perceiving  the  hesitation, 
went  out  gleefully,  persuaded  that  the  decision 
was  gall  and  wormwood  to  his  inveterate  foe. 

The  last  day  of  school  ended.  He  drove  to 
Trenton  in  a  buggy  with  Tough  McCarty  as 
befitted  his  new  dignity.  He  passed  the  Green 
House  with  a  strange  thrill.  The  humiliation 
of  a  year  before  had  well  been  atoned,  and  yet 
the  associations  somehowr  still  had  power  to  rise 
up  and  wound  him. 

"  Lord,  you've  changed !  "  said  Tough,  follow- 
ing his  thoughts. 

[346] 


THE   VARMINT 

"Improved!"  said  Dink  grimly. 

"  I  was  an  infernal  nuisance  myself  when  I 
landed,"  said  Tough,  President  of  the  Woodlmll, 
evasively.  "  I  say,  Dink,  next  year  we'll  be  lick- 
ing the  cubs  into  shape  ourselves." 

"That's  so,"  said  Stover.  "Well,  by  this 
time  next  year  I  probably  won't  be  so  popular." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Pm  going  to  put  an  end  to  a  lot  of  nonsense," 
said  Dink  solemnly.  "I'm  going  to  see  that 
my  kids  walk  a  chalk-line." 

"So  am  I,"  said  McCarty,  with  equal  pater- 
nity. "  What  a  shame  we  can't  room  together, 
old  boy!" 

"  That'll  come  in  the  Upper,  and  afterward !  " 

They  drove  sedately,  amid  the  whirling  masses 
of  the  school  that  went  hilariously  past  them. 
They  were  no  longer  of  the  irresponsible;  the 
cares  of  the  state  were  descending  on  their 
shoulders  and  a  certain  respect  was  neces- 
sary.1 

"  Good-by,  old  Sockbuts,"  said  Tough,  depart- 
ing toward  New  York.  "  Good-by,  old  geezer !  " 

"  Au  revoir." 

"  Mind  now — fifteenth  of  July  and  you  come 
for  one  month." 

"  You  bet  I  will ! " 

"  Take  care  of  yourself ! " 

"I  say,  Tough,"  said  Dink,  with  his  heart  in 
[347] 


THE    VARMINT 

his  moutli.  McCarty,  laden  with  valises, 
stopped : 

"What  is  it? " 

"  Remember  me  to  your  mother,  will  you?  " 

"  Oh,  sure." 

"  And — and  to  all  the  rest  of  the  family !  " 
said  Dink,  who  thereupon  bolted,  panic-stricken. 


[348] 


XXIII 

When  John  Stover,  President  of  the  Kennedy 
House,  arrived  at  the  opening  of  the  new  scho- 
lastic year,  he  arrived  magnificently  in  a  special 
buggy,  his  changed  personal  appearance  spread- 
ing wonder  and  incredulity  before  him.  He  was 
stylishly  encased  in  a  suit  of  tan  whipcord,  with 
creases  down  his  trousers  front  that  cut  the  air 
like  the  prow  of  a  ship.  On  his  head,  rakishly 
set,  was  a  Panama  hat,  over  his  arm  was  a  natty 
raincoat  and  he  wore  gloves. 

"  Who  is  it?  "  said  the  Tennessee  Shad  faintly. 

"  It's  the  gas  inspector,"  said  Dennis  de  Brian 
de  Boru,  who,  though  now  long  of  trousers,  con- 
tinued short  of  respect. 

"Goodness  gracious,"  said  the  Tennessee 
Shad,  "  can  it  be  the  little  Dink  who  came  to  us 
from  the  Green  House?" 

Stover  approached  serenely  and  shook  hands. 

"  Heavens,  Dink,"  said  the  Gutter  Pup,  "  what 
has  happened?  Have  you  gone  into  the  cloth- 
ing business?" 

"Like  my  jibs?"  said  Stover,  throwing  back 
his  coat.  "Catch  this!" 

The  front  rank  went  over  like  so  many  nine 
pins.  Stover,  pleased  with  the  effect,  waved  his 
[349] 


THE    VARMINT 

hand  and  disappeared  to  pay  his  militant  re- 
spects to  The  Roman  who  led  him  to  the  light 
and  looked  him  over  with  unconcealed  amaze- 
ment* 

When  Dink  had  gone  to  his  old  room  the  Ten- 
nessee Shad,  the  Gutter  Pup  and  Dennis  de 
Brian  de  Boru  Finnegan  were  already  awaiting 
him,  with  heads  critically  slanted. 

"  Tell  us  the  worst,"  said  the  Gutter  Pup. 

"  Are  you  married?  "  said  the  Tennessee  Shad. 

"Let's  see  her  photograph,"  said  Dennis  de 
Brian  de  Boru  Finnegan. 

Now,  Stover  had  foreseen  the  greeting  and 
the  question  and  had  come  prepared.  He  opened 
his  valise  and,  taking  out  a  case,  arranged  a 
dozen  photographs  on  his  bureau,  artfully  con- 
cealing the  one  and  only  in  a  temporarily  sub- 
ordinate position. 

The  three  village  loungers  arose  and  stationed 
themselves  in  front  of  the  portrait  gallery. 

"  Why,  he  must  be  perfectly  irresistible !  "  said 
the  Gutter  Pup. 

"Dink,"  said  Dennis,  "do  all  these  girls  love 
you?" 

Stover,  disdaining  a  reply,  selected  another 
case. 

"  Razors ! "  said  the  Tennessee  Shad. 

"What  for?"  said  Dennis. 

"Oh,  I  shave,  too,"  said  the  Gutter  Pup,  in 
[350] 


THE    VARMINT 

whom    the   spirit    of    envy   was   beginning   to 
work. 

"  And  now,  boys,"  said  Stover  briskly,  taking 
off  his  coat,  folding  it  carefully  over  a  chair  and 
beginning  to  unpack,  "  sit  down.  Don't  act  like 
a  lot  of  hayseeds  on  a  rail,  but  tell  me  what  the 
Freshmen  are  like." 

The  manner  was  complete — convincing,  with- 
out a  trace  of  embarrassment.  The  three  wits 
exchanged  foolish  glances  and  sat  down. 

"What  do  you  weigh?"  said  the  Gutter  Pup 
faintly. 

"One  hundred  and  fifty-five,  and  I've  grown 
an  inch,"  said  Stover,  ranging  on  a  ring  a  score 
of  flashy  neckties. 

"  I  wish  Lovely  Mead  could  see  those,"  said 
the  Gutter  Pup  with  a  last  appearance  of  levity. 

"Call  him  up.  Look  at  them  yourself,"  said 
Stover,  tendering  the  neckwear.  "  I  think 
they're  rather  tasty  myself." 

Before  such  absolute  serenity  frivolity  died  of 
starvation.  They  made  no  further  attempt  at 
sarcasm,  but  sat  awed  until  Stover  had  departed 
to  carry  the  glad  news  of  his  increased  weight 
to  Captain  Flash  Condit. 

"Why  he's  older  than  The  Roman,"  said  the 
Tennessee  Shad,  the  first  to  recover. 

"He's  in  love,"  said  Dennis,  who  had  intui- 
tions. 

[351] 


THE    VARMINT 

"No,  be-loved,"  said  the  Gutter  Pup  with  a 
sigh,  who  was  suffering  from  the  first  case,  but 
not  from  the  second. 

The  amazement  of  rolling,  old  Sir  John  Fal- 
staff  at  the  transformation  of  Prince  Hal  was 
nothing  to  the  consternation  of  the  Kennedy 
House  at  the  sudden  conversion  of  Dink  Stover, 
the  fount  of  mischief,  into  a  complete  disciplin- 
arian. 

Now  the  cardinal  principle  of  House  govern- 
ment is  the  division  of  the  flock  by  the  establish- 
ing of  an  age  line.  The  control  of  the  young- 
sters is  almost  always  vigorously  enforced,  and 
though  the  logical  principles  involved  are  some- 
times rather  dubious  they  are  adequate  from  the 
fact  that  they  are  never  open  to  argument.  Oc- 
casionally, however,  under  the  leadership  of 
some  president  either  too  indolent  or  incapable 
of  leadership,  this  strict  surveillance  over  the 
habits  and  conduct  of  youth  is  relaxed,  with 
disastrous  results  to  the  orderly  reputation  of 
the  House. 

Stover,  having  been  the  arch  rebel  and  fomen- 
ter  of  mischief,  had  the  most  determined  ideas 
as  to  the  discipline  he  intended  to  enforce  and 
the  respect  he  should  exact. 

The  first  clash  came  with  the  initial  House 

Meeting,  over  which  he  presided.    Now  in  the 

past  these  occasions  had  offered  Dennis  de  Brian 

de  Boru  Finnegan  and  his  attendant  imps  un- 

[352] 


THE   VARMINT 

limited  amusement,  as  King  Lentz  had  been  al- 
most totally  ignorant  of  the  laws  of  parliament- 
ary procedure. 

Of  a  consequence,  no  sooner  was  a  meeting 
fairly  under  way,  than  some  young  scamp  would 
rise  and  solemnly  move  the  previous  question, 
which  never  failed  to  bring  down  a  storm  of 
hoots  at  the  complete  mystification  of  the  per- 
plexed chairman,  who  never  to  his  last  day  was 
able  to  solve  this  knotty  point  of  procedure. 

Now,  Dennis,  while  he  had  been  impressed 
by  Stover's  new  majesty,  retained  still  a  feeling 
ol  resistance.  So  the  moment  the  gavel  de- 
clared the  meeting  open  he  bobbed  up  with  a 
wicked  gleam  and  shrilly  announced: 

"Mr.  Chairman,  I  move  the  previous  ques- 
tion." 

"Mr.  Finnegan  will  come  to  order,"  said 
Stover  quietly. 

"Oh,  I  say,  Dink!" 

"  Are  you  addressing  the  chair?  "  said  Stover 
sternly. 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Finnegan,  according  to  his 
usual  manner,  "  I  was  just  whistling  through  my 
teeth,  gargling  my  larynx,  trilling " 

Crash  came  the  gavel  and  the  law  spoke 
forth : 

"  Mr.  Finnegan  will  come  to  order?  " 

"I  won't!" 

"Mr.  Finnegan  either  apologizes  to  the  chair, 
[  353  ] 


THE    .VARMINT 

or  the  chair  will  see  that  Mr.  Finnegan  returns 
to  short  trousers  and  stays  there.  Mr.  Finne- 
gan has  exactly  one  minute  to  make  up  his 
mind." 

Dennis,  crimson  and  gasping,  stood  more 
thoroughly  amazed  and  nonplussed  than  he  had 
ever  been  in  his  active  existence.  He  opened 
his  mouth  as  though  to  reply,  and  beheld  Stover 
calmly  draw  forth  his  watch.  Had  it  been  any 
one  else,  Dennis  would  have  hesitated;  but  he 
knew  Stover  of  old  and  what  the  chilly,  metallic 
note  was  in  his  voice.  He  chose  the  lesser  of 
two  evils  and  gave  the  apology. 

"  The  chair  will  now  state,"  said  Stover,  re- 
placing his  watch,  "  for  the  benefit  of  any  other 
young,  transcendent  jokers  that  may  care  to 
display  their  side-splitting  wit,  that  the  chair 
is  quite  capable  of  handling  the  previous  ques- 
tion, or  any  other  question,  and  that  these  meet- 
ings are  going  to  be  orderly  proceedings  and  not 
one-ring  circuses  for  the  benefit  of  the  Kennedy 
Association  of  Clowns.  The  question  before  the 
House  is  the  protest  against  compulsory  bath. 
The  chair  recognizes  Mr.  Lazelle  to  make  a  mo- 
tion." 

The  cup  of  Finnegan's  bitterness  was  not  yet 

filled.     Stover's  first  act  of  administration  was 

to  forbid  the  privileges  of  the  cold-air  flues  and 

the  demon  cigarette  to  all  members  of  the  House 

[354] 


THE   VAKMINT 

who  had  not  attained,  according  to  his  judg- 
ment, either  a  proper  age  or  a  sufficient  display 
of  bodily  stature.  Among  the  proscribed  was 
Dennis  de  Brian  de  Boru  Finnegan,  whose  legs, 
clothed  in  new  dignity,  fairly  quivered  under  the 
affront,  as  he  tearfully  protested: 

"  I  say,  Dink,  it's  an  outrage !  " 

"  Can't  help  it.    It's  for  your  own  good." 

"But  I'm  fifteen." 

"  Now,  see  here,  Dennis,"  said  Stover  firmly, 
"your  business  is  to  grow  and  to  be  of  some 
use.  No  one's  going  to  know  about  it  unless  you 
yell  it  out,  but  I'm  going  to  see  that  you  turn 
out  a  decent,  manly  chap  and  not  another  Slops 
Barnett." 

"  But  you  went  with  Slops  yourself." 

"I  did — but  you're  not  going  to  oe  such  a 
fool." 

"  Why,  you're  a  regular  tyrant !  " 

"  All  right,  call  it  that." 

"And  I  elected  you,"  said  Dennis,  the  ag- 
grieved and  astounded  modern  politician.  "  This 
is  Goo-gooism ! " 

"  No,  it  isn't,"  said  Stover  indignantly.  "  I'm 
not  interfering  with  any  fellow  who's  sixteen — 
they  can  do  what  they  darn  please.  But  I'm 
not  going  to  have  a  lot  of  kids  in  this  House 
starting  sporting  life  until  they've  grown  up  to 
it,  savez?  They're  going  to  be  worth  living  with 
[355] 


THE    VARMINT 

and  having  around,  and  not  abominations  in  the 
sight  of  gods  and  men.  Pass  the  word  along." 

The  revolt,  for  a  short  while,  was  furiously 
indignant,  but  the  prestige  of  Stover's  reputa- 
tion forestalled  all  thought  of  disobedience.  In 
such  cases  absolute  power  is  in  the  hands  of 
him  who  can  wield  it,  and  Stover  could  com- 
mand. 

In  short  order  he  had  reduced  the  youngsters 
to  respect  and  usefulness,  with  the  following  im- 
perial decrees: 

1.  All  squabs  are  to  maintain  in  public  a  de- 
ferential and  modest  attitude. 

2.  No  squab  shall  talk  to  excess  in  the  pres- 
ence of  his  elders. 

3.  No  squab  shall  habitually  use  bad  lan- 
guage, under  penalty  of  an  application  of  soap 
and  water. 

4.  No  squab  shall  use  tobacco  in  any  form. 

5.  No  squab  shall  leave  the  House  after  lights 
without  express  permission. 

These  regulations  were  not  simply  an  excer- 
cise  of  arbitrary  authority,  for  in  the  House  it- 
self were  certain  elements  which  Dink  perfectly 
understood,  and  whose  spheres  of  influence  he 
was  resolved  to  confine  to  their  own  limits. 

"  How're  you  going  to  enforce,  Sire,  these  im- 
perial decrees?  "  asked  the  Tennessee  Shad,  who, 
however,  thoroughly  approved. 
[356] 


THE   yARMINT 

"  I  have  a  method,"  said  Stover,  with  an  in- 
terior smile.  "It's  what  I  call  a  Rogues'  Gal- 
lery." 

"I  don't  see,"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad, 
puzzled. 

"  You  will." 

The  first  rebel  was  a  Freshman,  Bellefont, 
known  as  the  Millionaire  Baby,  who,  due  to  a 
previous  luxurious  existence,  had  acquired 
manly  practices  at  an  early  age.  Bellefont  was 
detected  with  the  odor  of  tobacco. 

"  Young  squab,  have  you  been  smoking? "  said 
Stover. 

"  Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?  " 
said  the  youngster  defiantly. 

"Gutter  Pup,  get  your  camera,"  said  Stover. 

The  Gutter  Pup,  mystified,  returned.  The  au- 
tocrat seized  the  young  rebel,  slung  him  pater- 
nally across  his  knee  and  with  raised  hand  spoke : 

"  Gutter  Pup,  snap  a  couple  of  good  ones. 
We'll  make  this  Exhibit  A  in  our  Rogues'  Gal- 
lery." 

Bellefont,  at  the  thought  of  this  public  per- 
petuation, set  up  a  howl  and  kicked  as  though 
mortally  stung.  Stover  held  firm.  The  snap- 
shots were  taken,  developed  and  duly  posted. 

From  that  moment,  in  public  at  least,  Stover's 
slightest  gesture  was  obeyed  as  promptly  as  the 
lifting  of  an  English  policeman's  finger. 
[357] 


THE    VARMINT 

The  yoke  once  accepted  became  popular  alike 
with  the  older  members,  who  ceased  to  be  an- 
noyed, and  with  the  squabs  themselves,  who, 
finding  they  were  protected  from  bullying  or 
unfair  exactions,  soon  adopted  toward  Stover 
an  attitude  of  reverent  idolatry  that  was  not 
without  its  embarrassments.  He  was  called 
upon  at  all  hours  to  render  decisions  on  matters 
political  and  philosophical,  with  the  knowledge 
that  his  opinion  would  instantly  be  adopted  as 
religion.  Before  him  were  brought  all  family 
quarrels,  some  serious,  some  grotesque ;  but  each 
class  demanding  a  settlement  in  equity. 

One  afternoon  Dennis  maliciously  piloted  to 
his  presence  Pee-wee  Norris  and  his  new  room- 
mate, a  youngster  named  Berbacker,  called  Cy- 
clops from  the  fact  that  one  eye  was  glass,  a 
gift  that  brought  him  a  peculiar  admiration  and 
envy. 

Stover,  observing  the  cunning  expression  on 
Finnegan's  face,  scented  a  trap.  The  matter 
was,  indeed,  very  grave. 

"See  here,  Dink,"  said  Pee-wee  indignantly; 
"I  leave  it  to  you.  How  would  you  like  to 
stumble  upon  a  loose  eye  all  over  the  room? " 

"A  what?" 

"  A  loose  eye.  This  fellow  Cyclops  is  all  the 
time  leaving  his  glass  eye  around  in  my  diggings 
and  I  don't  like  it  It's  the  deuce  of  a  thing  to 
[358] 


THE   VARMINT 

find  it  winking  up  at  you  from  the  table  or  the 
window-seat.  It  gives  me  the  creeps." 

"What  have  you  got  to  say,  Cyclops?"  said 
Stover,  assuming  a  judicial  air. 

"Well,  I've  always  been  used  to  takin'  the 
eye  out,"  said  Cyclops,  with  an  injured  look. 
"Most  fellows  are  glad  to  see  it.  But,  I  say, 
I'm  the  fellow  who  has  the  kick.  The  whole 
thing  started  by  Norris  hiding  it  on  me." 

"  Did  you  swipe  his  eye?  "  said  Stover  severely. 

"  Well,  yes,  I  did.  What  right's  he  got  to  let 
it  out  loose?" 

"  I  want  him  to  leave  my  eye  alone,"  said  Cy- 
clops. 

"  I  want  him  to  keep  his  old  eye  in  his  old 
socket,"  said  Pee-wee. 

"  Oh,  Solomon,  what  is  thy  judgment?  "  said 
Dennis,  who  had  engineered  it  all. 

"I'll  give  my  judgment  and  it'll  settle  it," 
said  Dink  firmly.  "But  I'll  think  it  over 
first." 

True  to  his  word,  he  deliberated  long  and  ac- 
tively and,  as  the  judgment  had  to  be  given, 
he  called  the  complaining  parties  before  him 
and  said: 

"  Now,  look  here,  Pee-wee  and  Cyclops ;  you 

fellows  are  rooming  together  and  you've  got  to 

get  on.    If  you  (fight,  keep  it  to  yourselves; 

don't    shout    it   around.     But   get    together — 

[359] 


THE   VARMIXT 

agree.  You've  got  to  go  on,  and  the  more  you 
agree — ahem — the  less  you'll  disagree,  see?  It's 
just  like  marriage.  Now  you  go  back  and  live 
like  a  respectable  married  couple,  and  if  I  hear 
any  more  about  this  glass  eye  I'll  spank  you 
both  and  have  you  photographed  for  the  Eogues' 
Gallery." 

Among  the  members  of  the  Kennedy  House 
there  were  two  who  defied  his  authority  and 
gave  him  cause  for  dissatisfaction — the  Million- 
aire Baby,  who  was  a  nuisance  because  he  had 
been  pampered  and  impressed  with  his  own  di- 
vine right,  and  a  fellow  named  Horses  Griffin, 
who  was  unbearable  because,  owing  to  his  size 
and  strength,  he  had  never  had  the  blessing  of 
a  good  thrashing. 

Now  when  Stover  promulgated  his  laws  for 
the  protection  of  Squabs  he  had  served  notice 
on  the  sporting  centers  that  he  expected  their 
adherence.  Fellows  like  Slops  Barnett  and 
Fatty  Harris,  who,  to  do  them  justice,  approved 
of  segregation,  made  no  defiance.  Griffin, 
though,  who  was  a  hulking,  rather  surly,  self- 
conscious  fellow,  secretly  rebelled  at  this  act 
of  authority,  and  gave  asylum  to  Bellefont,  from 
whom  he  was  glad  to  accept  the  good  things  that 
regularly  arrived  in  boxes  from  a  solicitous 
mother. 

Stover  had  seen  from  the  first  how  the  issue 
[360] 


THE   VARMINT 

would  have  to  be  met,  and  met  it  at  the  first 
opportunity.  Griffin  having  defied  his  author- 
ity by  openly  inviting  the  Millionaire  Baby  up 
for  the  nefarious  practice  of  matching  pennies, 
Dink  marched  up  the  stairs  and  entered  the 
enemy's  room. 

A  moment  later  the  group  expectantly  gathered 
in  the  hall  heard  something  within  that  resem- 
bled an  itinerant  cyclone,  then  the  door  blew 
open  and  Griffin  shot  out  and  raced  for  the 
stairs,  while  behind  him — like  an  angry  tom-cat 
— came  Stover,  in  time  to  give  to  the  panicky 
champion  just  that  extra  impetus  that  allowed 
him,  as  Dennis  expressed  it,  to  establish  a  new 
record — flying  start — for  the  twenty-six  steps. 
After  this  little  explanation  Griffin  showed  a 
marked  disinclination  for  the  company  of  Belle- 
font,  and  became,  indeed,  quite  a  useful  mem- 
ber of  the  community,  though  he  always  retained 
such  acute  memories  that  an  angry  tone  from 
Stover  would  cause  him  to  fidget  and  calculate 
the  distance  to  the  door. 

Griffin  subdued,  the  Millionaire  Baby  still  re- 
mained. The  problem  was  a  knotty  one,  for  as 
Bellefont  was  still  of  sub-stature  the  means  of 
correction  were  limited. 

"What  worries  your  Majesty?"  said  Dennis 
de  Brian  de  Boru,  perceiving  Stover  in  stern 
meditation.  "Is  it  that  beautiful  specimen  of 
[361] 


THE   VARMINT 

flunky-raised    squab    entitled    the    Millionaire 
Baby?" 

"  It  is,"  said  Dink.    Between  him  and  Dennis 
peace  had  long  since  been  concluded. 

"  He  is  a  very  precious  hothouse  flower,"  said 
Dennis  sarcastically. 

"  He  is  the  most  useless,  pestiferous,  conceited 
little  squirt  I  ever  saw,"  said  Dink. 

"  I  love  him  not," 

"But  I'll  get  that  flunky  smell  out  of  him 
yet!" 

"  The  pity  is  he  has  such  fat,  juicy  boxes  from 
home." 

"  He  has — how  often?  " 

"Every  two  weeks." 

" It  oughtn't  to  be  allowed." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?    You  can't  take 
'em  by  force." 

"No— that  wouldn't  do." 

"Still,"    said    Dennis   regretfully,    "he's    so 
young  it  is  just  ruining  his  little  digestion." 

They   sat   a    moment    deliberating.     Finally 
Dink  spoke  rapturously: 

"  I  have  it.     We'll  organize  the  Kennedy  Cus- 
toms House." 

"Aha!" 

"  Everything  imported  must  pass  the  Customs 
House." 

"Pass?" 

[362] 


THE   VARMINT 

"  Certainly ;  everything  must  be  legal." 

"What  am  I  to  be?" 

"  Appraiser." 

"  I'd  rather  be  first  taster." 

"  Same  thing." 

"You  said  pass,"  said  Dennis  obstinately. 
"I  don't  like  that  word." 

"  Purely  technical  sense." 

"But  there  will  be  duties  imposed?" 

"  Certainly." 

"  Aha !  "  said  Dennis  brightening.  "  Very 
high  duties?  " 

"  The  maximum  duty  on  luxuries,"  said  Dink. 
"We're  all  good  Republicans,  aren't  we?" 

"  I  am,  if  I  can  write  the  tariff  schedule,"  said 
Dennis,  who,  as  may  be  seen,  was  orthodox. 

When,  on  the  following  week,  young  Bellefont 
received  his  regular  installment  of  high-priced 
indigestibles  he  was  amazed  to  see  the  Gutter 
Pup  and  Lovely  Mead  appear  with  solemn  de- 
meanor. 

"Hello,"  said  the  Millionaire  Baby,  placing 
himself  in  front  of  the  half-open  box. 

"  See  these  badges,"  said  Lovely  Mead,  point- 
ing to  their  caps,  around  which  were  displayed 
white  bandages  inscribed  "inspector." 

"  Sure." 

"We're  in  the  Customs  House." 

"Well,  what?" 

[363] 


THE   VARMINT 

"  And  we  have  received  information  that  yon 
are  systematically  smuggling  goods  into  this  ter- 
ritory." 

The  Millionaire  Baby  looked  as  though  a  ghost 
had  arisen. 

"  Aha ! "  said  the  Gutter  Pup,  perceiving  the 
box.  "Here's  the  evidence  now.  Officer,  seize 
the  goods  and  the  prisoner." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  to  me?  "  said  the 
culprit  in  great  alarm. 

"  Take  you  before  the  Customs  Court." 

The  Customs  Court  was  sitting,  without  ab- 
sentees, in  Stover's  room — appraisers,  weighers, 
adjusters  and  consulting  experts,  all  legally 
ticketed  and  very  solemn.  The  prisoner  was 
stood  in  a  corner  and  the  contents  of  the  box 
spread  on  the  floor. 

"First  exhibit — one  plum  cake,"  announced 
Beekstein,  who  was  in  a  menial  position. 

"Duty  sixty-five  per  cent,"  said  Dennis  de 
Brian  de  Born  Finnegan,  consulting  a  book. 
"  Raisins  and  spices." 

"  Two  bottles  of  anchovy  olives." 

"Duty  fifty  per  cent,  imported  fruits." 

"Only  fifty  per  cent?"  said  Stover,  who  had 
a  preference  for  the  same. 

"  That's  all." 

"What's  it  on?" 

"Imported  fruits." 

[364] 


THE   VARMINT 

"How  about  spiced  fish?"  said  the  Tennessee 
Shad,  coming  to  the  rescue,  "  and,  likewise,  Ital- 
ian glass? " 

The  Millionaire  Baby  gave  a  groan. 

"  Imported  fish,  forty  per  cent,"  said  Dennis, 
"glass — Venetian  glass — thirty -five  per  cent. 
He  owes  us  thirty  per  cent  on  this." 

"Continue,"  said  Stover,  casting  a  grateful 
glance  at  the  Tennessee  Shad. 

"  Two  boxes  of  candied  prunes,  that's  vege- 
tables, twenty-five  per  cent." 

"  They're  preserved  in  sugar,  aren't  they?  " 

"  Sure." 

"  There's  a  duty  of  fifty  per  cent  on  sugar." 

"  Long  live  the  Sugar  Trust." 

"  Doggone  robbers !  "  said  the  Millionaire  Baby 
tearfully. 

"  Three  boxes  salted  almonds,  one  large  Jbox 
of  chocolate  bonbons,  one  angel  cake  and  six 
tins  of  candied  ginger." 

The  judges,  deliberating,  assessed  each  article. 
Stover  rose  to  announce  the  decree. 

"  The  clerk  of  the  court  will  return  to  the  im- 
porter thirty-five  per  cent  of  the  plum  cake, 
twenty-five  per  cent  of  the  candied  prunes,  one 
box  of  salted  almonds  and  two  tins  of  gin- 
ger." 

The  Millionaire  Baby  breathlessly  contained 
his  wrath. 

[365] 


THE    VARMINT 

Dennis  de  Brian  de  Boru  Finnegan  addressed 
the  court: 

"Your  Honor." 

"Mr.  Finnegan." 

"  I  beg  to  call  to  your  Honor's  attention  that 
these  goods  have  been  seized  and  are  subject 
to  a  fine." 

"  True,"  said  Stover,  glancing  sternly  at  the 
frothing  Bellefont.  "  I  would  be  inclined  to  be 
lenient,  but  I  am  informed  that  this  is  not  the 
defendant's  first  offense.  The  clerk  of  the  court 
will,  therefore,  confiscate  the  whole." 

The  Millionaire  Baby,  with  a  howl,  began  to 
express  himself  in  the  language  of  the  stables. 

"  Gag  him,"  said  Stover,  "  and  let  him  be  in- 
formed that  the  duties  will  be  lightened  if  in 
the  future  he  declares  his  imports." 

The  government  then  applied  the  revenues  to 
the  needs  of  the  department  of  the  interior. 

"  The  duty  on  anchovy  olives  is  too  high,"  said 
Finnegan,  looking  fondly  down  a  bottle. 

"How  so?" 

"  It  will  stop  the  imports." 

"  True — we  might  reduce  it." 

"We  mast  encourage  imports,"  said  the  Gut- 
ter Pup  firmly. 

And  the  chorus  came  full  mouthed: 

"Sure!" 

The  Millionaire  Baby  received  three  more 
[366] 


THE   VARMINT 

boxes — that  is,  he  received  the  limited  portion 
that  a  paternal  government  allowed  him.  Then, 
being  chastened,  he  took  a  despicable  revenge — 
he  stopped  the  supply. 

"  Well,  it  was  sweet  while  it  lasted,"  said  Den- 
nis regretfully. 

"  We've  stopped  toadyism  in  the  House/5  said 
Stover  virtuously.  "  We  have  eliminated  the  in- 
fluence of  money." 

"That  is  praiseworthy,  but  it  doesn't  fill  me 
with  enthusiasm." 

"  Dink,"  said  the  Tennessee  Shad,  "  I  must 
say  I  consider  this  one  of  your  few  failures. 
You're  a  great  administrator,  but  you  don't  un- 
derstand the  theory  of  taxation." 

"I  don't,  eh?    Well,  what  is  the  theory?" 

"  The  theory  of  taxation,"  said  the  Tennessee 
Shad,  "  is  to  soak  the  taxed  all  they'll  stand  for, 
but  to  leave  them  just  enough,  so  they'll  come 
again." 


[387] 


XXIV 

No  sooner  had  Mr.  John  H.  Stover  returned 
from  the  serious  developments  of  the  summer, 
arranged  his  new  possessions  and  brought  for- 
ward the  photograph  of  Miss  McCarty  to  a  posi- 
tion on  the  edge  of  his  bureau,  where  he  could 
turn  to  it  the  last  thing  at  night  and  again  be- 
hold it  with  his  waking  glance,  than  a  horrible 
coincidence  appeared. 

Among  the  festive  decorations  that  made  the 
corporate  home  of  Dink  and  the  Tennessee  Shad 
a  place  to  visit  and  admire  was,  as  has  been  re- 
lated, a  smashing  poster  of  a  ballet  dancer  in  the 
costume  of  an  amazon  parader.  Up  to  now  Dink 
had  shared  the  just  pride  of  the  Tennessee  Shad 
in  this  rakish  exhibit  that  somehow  gave  the 
possessor  the  reputation  of  having  an  acquain- 
tance with  stage  entrances.  But  on  the  second 
morning  when  his  faithful  glance  turned  to  the 
protecting  presence  of  Miss  McCarty  resting 
among  the  brushes,  it  paused  a  moment  on  the 
representative  of  the  American  dramatic  pro- 
fession, who  was  coquettishly  trying  to  conceal 
one  foot  behind  her  ear. 

Then  he  sat  bolt  upright  with  a  start.  By 
[368] 


THE   VAKMINT 

some  strange  perversion  of  the  fate  that  delights 
in  torturing  lovers,  the  features  of  the  immod- 
estly clothed  amazon  bore  the  most  startling 
resemblance  to  that  paragon  of  celestial  purity, 
Miss  Josephine  McCarty. 

The  more  he  gazed  the  more  astounding  was 
the  imlpression.  He  gazed  and  then  he  did  not 
gaze  at  all — it  seemed  like  a  profanation.  The 
resemblance,  once  perceived,  positively  haunted 
him ;  stand  where  he  might  his  eyes  could  see 
nothing  but  the  seraphic  head  of  Miss  McCarty 
upon  the  unspeakable  body  of  the  amazon — 
and  then  those  legs ! 

For  days  this  centaurian  combination  tor- 
tured him  without  his  being  able  to  evolve  a 
satisfactory  method  of  removing  the  blasphe- 
mous poster.  A  direct  attack  was  quite  out  of 
the  question,  for  manifestly  the  Tennessee  Shad 
would  demiand  an  adequate  explanation  for  the 
destruction  of  his  treasured  possession.  There 
could  be  no  explanation  except  the  true  one,  and 
such  a  confession  was  unthinkable,  even  to  a 
roommate  under  oath. 

For  two  solid  weeks  Stover,  brooding  desper- 
ately, sought  to  avert  his  glance  from  the  pro- 
fane spectacle  before  chance  came  to  his  rescue. 
One  Saturday  night,  after  a  strenuous  game 
with  the  Princeton  Freshmen,  Dink,  afraid  of 
going  stale,  decided  to  quicken  his  jaded  appe- 
[369] 


THE    VARMINT 

tite  by  an  application  of  sardines,  deviled  ham 
and  rootbeer. 

The  feasting-table  happened  to  be  directly  be- 
neath the  abhorrent  poster,  so  that  Stover,  as 
he  lifted  the  bottle  to  open  it,  beheld  with  fury 
the  offending  tights.  He  gave  the  bottle  instinc- 
tively a  shake  and  with  that  disturbing  motion 
suddenly  came  his  plan. 

"  This  rootbeer  has  been  flat  as  the  deuce 
lately,"  he  said. 

"  They're  selling  us  poor  stuff,"  said  the  Ten- 
nessee Shad,  with  the  tail  of  a  sardine  disap- 
pearing within. 

"I  wonder  if  I  could  put  life  in  the  blame 
thing  if  I  shook  it  up  a  bit,"  said  Stover,  suit- 
ing the  action  to  the  word. 

Now,  the  Tennessee  Shad  knew  from  expe- 
rience what  that  result  would  be,  but  as  Stover 
was  holding  the  bottle  he  dissembled  his  knowl- 
edge. 

"  Give  it  a  shake,"  he  said. 

Stover  complied. 

"  Shake  her  again. 

"How's  that?" 

"Once  more.     It'll  be  just  like  champagne." 

Stover  gave  it  a  final  vigorous  shake,  pointed 

the  nozzle  toward  the  poster  and  cut  the  cork. 

There  was  an  explosion  and  then  the  contents 

rose  like  a  geyser  and  spread  over  the  ceiling 

[370] 


THE   VAKMINT 

and  the  luckless  ballet  dancer  who  dared  to  re- 
semble Miss  McCarty. 

By  the  next  morning  the  poster  was  unrecog- 
nizable under  a  coating  of  dried  reddish  spots 
and  was  ignominiously  removed,  to  the  delight 
of  Stover,  whose  illusions  were  thus  preserved, 
as  well  as  his  secret. 

Now,  the  month  spent  at  the  McCartys'  had 
strengthened  his  honorable  intentions  and  given 
them  that  definite  purpose  that  is  sometimes 
vulgarly  ticketed — object  matrimony. 

It  is  not  that  Dink  could  return  over  the  ro- 
mantic days  of  his  visit  and  lay  his  finger  on 
any  particular  scene  or  any  definite  word  that 
could  be  construed  as  binding  Miss  McCarty. 
But,  on  the  other  hand,  his  own  actions  and 
expressions,  he  thought,  must  have  been  so  capa- 
ble of  but  one  interpretation  that,  as  a  man  of 
honor,  he  held  himself  morally  as  well  as  will- 
ingly bound.  Of  course,  she  had  understood  his 
attitude;  she  must  have  understood.  And,  like- 
wise, there  were  events  that  made  him  believe 
that  she,  in  her  discreet  way,  had  let  him  see  by 
her  actions  what  she  could  not  convey  by  her 
words.  For,  of  course,  in  his  present  position 
of  dependence  on  his  father,  nothing  could  be 
said.  He  understood  that.  He  would  not  have 
changed  it.  Still,  there  were  unmistakable  mem- 
ories of  the  preference  he  had  enjoyed.  There 
[371] 


THE    VARMINT 

had  been,  in  particular,  an  ill-favored  dude, 
called  Ver  Plank,  who  had  always  been  hanging 
around  with  his  tandem  and  his  millions,  who 
had  been  sacrificed  a  dozen  times  by  the  unmer- 
cenary  angel  to  his,  John  H.  Stover's,  profit. 
That  was  clear  enough,  and  there  had  been  many 
such  incidents. 

The  only  thing  that  disappointed  Dink  was 
the  polite  correctness  of  her  letters.  But  then 
something,  he  said  to  himself,  must  be  allowed 
for  maiden  modesty.  His  own  letters  were  the 
product  of  afternoons  and  evenings.  The  her- 
culean difficulty  that  he  experienced  in  cover- 
ing four  sheets  of  paper — even  when  writing  a 
flowing  hand  and  allowing  half  a  page  for  the 
signature — secretly  worried  him.  It  seemed  as 
though  something  was  lacking  in  his  character 
or  in  the  strength  of  his  devotion. 

On  the  day  after  the  final  disappearance  of 
the  brazen  amazon  Dink  pounced  upon  a  violet 
envelope  in  the  well-known  handwriting  and 
bore  it  to  a  place  of  secrecy.  It  was  in  answer 
to  four  of  his  own  painful  compositions. 

He  gave  three  glances  before  reading,  three 
glances  that  estimate  all  such  longed-for  epistles. 
There  were  five  pages,  which  brought  him  a 
thrill ;  it  was  signed  "  as  ever,  Josephine,"  which 
brought  him  a  doubt ;  and  it  began  "  Dear  Jack," 
which  brought  him  nothing  at  all. 
[372] 


THE   VARMINT 

Having  thus  passed  from  hot  to  cold,  and  back 
to  a  fluctuating  temperature,  he  began  the  let- 
ter— first,  to  read  what  was  written,  and  sec- 
ond, to  read  what  might  be  concealed  between 
the  lines: 

DEAR  JACK:  Since  your  last  letter  I've  been 
in  a  perfect  whirl  of  gayety — dances,  coaching 
parties  and  what-not.  Really,  you  would  say 
that  I  was  nothing  but  a  frivolous  butterfly  of 
fashion.  Next  week  I  am  going  to  the  Ver 
Planks'  with  quite  a  party  and  we  are  to  coach 
through  the  Berkshires.  The  Judsons  are  to  be 
along  and  that  pretty  Miss  Dow,  of  whom  I  was 
so  jealous  when  you  were  here,  do  you  remem- 
ber? I  m'et  a  Mr.  Cockrell,  who,  it  seems,  was 
at  Lawrenceville.  He  told  me  you  were  going 
to  be  a  phenomenal  football  player,  captain  of 
the  team  next  year,  and  all  sorts  of  wonderful 
things.  He  admires  you  tremendously.  I  was 
so  pleased !  Don't  forget  to  write  soon. 

As  ever, 

JOSEPHINE. 

This  letter,  as  indeed  all  her  letters  did,  left 
Dink  trapezing,  so  to  speak,  from  one  emotion 
to  another.  He  had  not  acquired  that  knowl- 
edge, which  indeed  is  never  acquired,  of  valuing 
to  a  nicety  the  intents,  insinuations  and  com- 
plexities of  the  feminine  school  of  literature. 
[373] 


THE   VARMINT 

There  were  things  that  sent  him  soaring  like 
a  Japanese  kite  and  there  were  things,  notably 
the  reference  to  Ver  Plank,  that  tumbled  him  as 
awkwardly  down. 

He  immediately  seized  upon  pen  and  paper. 
It  had,  perhaps,  been  his  fault.  He  would  con- 
duct the  correspondence  on  a  more  serious  tone. 
He  would  be  a  little — daring. 

At  the  start  he  fell  into  the  usual  inky  deliber- 
ation. "  Dear  Josephine "  was  so  inadequate. 
"  My  dear  Josephine  "  had — or  did  it  not  have 
• — just  an  extra  little  touch  of  tenderness,  a 
peculiar  claim  to  possession.  But  if  so,  would 
it  be  too  bold  or  too  sentimental?  He  wrote 
boldly: 

"  My  dear  Josephine : " 

Then  he  considered.  Unfortunately,  at  that 
time  the  late  lamented  Pete  Daly,  in  the  halls  of 
the  likewise  lamented  Weber  and  Fields,  was 
singing  dusky  love  songs  to  a  lady  likewise  en- 
titled "  My  Josephine."  The  connection  was  un- 
thinkable. Dink  tore  the  page  into  minute  bits 
and,  selecting  another,  sighed  and  returned  to 
the  old  formula. 

Here  another  long  pause  succeeded  while  he 
searched  for  a  sentiment  or  a  resolve  that  would 
raise  him'  in  her  estimation.  It  is  a  mood  in 
which  the  direction  of  a  lifetime  is  sometimes 
bartered  for  a  phrase.  So  it  happened  with 
[374] 


THE   VARMINT 

Dink.     Suddenly  his  face  lit  up  and  he  started 
to  write: 

DEAR  JOSEPHINE  :  Your  letter  came  to  me  just 
as  I  was  writing  you  of  a  plan  I  have  been 
thinking  of  for  weeks.  I  have  decided  not  to  go 
to  college.  Of  course,  it  would  be  a  great  pleas- 
ure and,  perhaps,  I  look  upon  life  too  seriously, 
as  you  often  tell  me ;  but  I  want  to  get  to  work, 
to  feel  that  I  am  standing  on  my  own  feet,  and 
four  years  seems  an  awful  time  to  wait, — for 
that.  What  do  you  think?  I  do  hope  you  under- 
stand just  what  I  mean.  It  is  very  serious  to  me, 
the  most  serious  thing  in  the  world. 

I'm  glad  you're  having  a  good  time. 

Don't  write  such  nonsense  about  Miss  Dow; 
you  know  there's  nothing  in  that  direction.  Do 
write  and  tell  me  what  you  think  about  my 
plan. 

Faithfully  yours, 

JACK. 

P.  S.  When  are  you  going  to  send  me  that 
new  photograph?  I  have  only  three  of  you  now, 
a  real  one  and  two  kodaks.  I'm  glad  you're 
having  a  good  time. 

No  sooner   was   this   letter    dispatched  and 
Stover  had  realized  what  had  been  in  his  mind 
[375] 


THE  yABMINT 

for  weeks  than  he  went  to  Tough  McCarty  to 
inform  him  of  his  high  resolve. 

"  But,  Dink/'  said  Tough  in  dismay,  "  you 
can't  be  serious!  Why,  we  were  going  through 
college  together ! " 

"  That's  the  hard  part  of  it,"  said  Dink,  look- 
ing and,  indeed,  feeling  very  solemn. 

"  But  you're  giving  up  a  wonderful  career. 
Every  one  says  you'll  be  a  star  end.  You'll  make 
the  All-American.  Oh,  Dink!" 

"  Don't,"  said  Dink  heroically. 

"  But,  I  say,  what's  happened  ? " 

"  It's — it's  a  family  matter,"  said  Stover,  who 
on  such  occasions,  it  will  be  perceived,  had  a 
strong  family  feeling. 

"  Is  it  decided?"  said  Tough  in  consternation. 

"  Unless  stocks  take  a  turn,"  said  Dink. 

McCarty  was  heartbroken,  Dink  rather 
pleased,  with  the  new  role  that,  somehow,  lifted 
him  from  his  fellows  in  dignity  and  seriousness 
and  seemed  to  cut  down  the  seven  years.  All 
that  week  he  waited  hopefully  for  her  answer. 
She  must  understand  now  the  inflexibility  of 
his  character  and  the  intensity  of  his  devotion. 
His  letter  told  everything,  and  yet  in  such  a 
delicate  manner  that  she  must  honor  him  the 
more  for  the  generous  way  in  which  he  took 
everything  upon  himself,  offered  everything  and 
asked  nothing.  He  was  so  confidently  happy 
[376] 


THE   VARMINT 

and  elated  with  the  vexed  decision  of  his  affairs 
that  he  even  took  the  Millionaire  Baby  over  to 
the  Jigger  Shop  and  stood  treat,  after  a  few 
words  of  paternal  advice  which  went  unheeded. 

Toward  the  beginning  of  the  third  week  in 
the  early  days  of  November,  as  the  squad  was 
returning  from  practice  Tough  said  casually: 

"  I  say,  did  you  get  a  letter  from  Sis?  " 

"No,"  said  Dink  with  difficulty. 

"  You  probably  have  one  at  the  house.  She's 
engaged." 

"What?"  said  Dink  faintly.  The  word 
seemed  to  be  spoken  from  another  mouth. 

"Engaged  to  that  Ver  Plank  fellow  that  was 
hanging  around.  I  think  he's  a  mutt." 

"  Oh,  yes— Ver  Plank." 

"  Gee,  it  gave  me  quite  a  jolt ! " 

"  Oh,  I — I  rather  expected  it." 

He  left  Tough,  wondering  how  he  had  had 
the  strength  to  answer. 

"  Look  out,  you're  treading  on  my  toes,"  said 
the  Gutter  Pup  next  him. 

He  mumbled  something  and  his  teeth  closed 
over  his  tongue  in  the  effort  to  bring  the  sharp 
sense  of  pain.  He  went  to  Ms  box;  the  letter 
was  there.  He  went  to  his  room  and  laid  it  on 
the  table,  going  to  the  window  and  staring  out. 
Then  he  sat  down  heavily,  rested  his  head  in 
his  hands  and  read : 

[377] 


THE    VARMINT 

DEAR  JACK:  I'm  writing  to  you  among  the 
first,  for  I  want  you  particularly  to  know  how 
happy  I  am.  Mr.  Ver  Plank 

He  put  the  letter  down;  indeed,  he  could  not 
see  to  read  any  further.  There  was  nothing  more 
to  read — nothing  mattered.  It  was  all  over,  the 
light  was  gone,  everything  was  topsy-turvy.  He 
could  not  understand — but  it  was  over — all  over. 
There  was  nothing  left. 

Some  time  later  the  Tennessee  Shad  came  lop- 
ing down  the  hall,  tried  the  door  and,  finding  it 
locked,  called  out: 

"  What  the  deuce — open  up !  " 

Dink,  in  terror,  rose  from  the  table  where  he 
had  remained  motionless.  He  caught  up  the 
letter  and  hastily  stuffed  it  in  his  desk,  saying 
gruffly: 

"In  a  moment." 

Then  he  dabbed  a  sponge  over  his  face,  pressed 
his  hands  to  his  temples  and,  steadying  himself, 
unlocked  the  door. 

"  For  the  love  of  Mike ! "  said  the  indignant 
Tennessee  Shad,  and  then,  catching  sight  of 
Dink,  stopped.  "Dink,  what  is  the  matter?" 

"  It's — it's  my  mother,"  said  Dink  desperately. 

"  She's  not  dead?  » 

"No — no "  said  Dink,  now  free  to  suffo- 
cate, "  not  yet," 

[378] 


XXV 

This  providential  appearance  of  his  mother 
mercifully  allowed  Dink  an  opportunity  to  suffer 
without  fear  of  disgrace  in  the  eyes  of  the  un- 
emotional Tennessee  Shad. 

That  very  night,  as  soon  as  the  Shad  had  de- 
parted in  search  of  Beekstein's  guiding  mathe- 
matical hand,  Dink  sat  down  heroically  to  frame 
his  letter  of  congratulations.  He  would  show 
her  that,  though  she  looked  upon  him  as  a  boy, 
there  was  in  him  the  courage  that  never  cries 
out.  She  had  played  with  him,  but  at  least  she 
should  look  back  with  admiration. 

"  Dear  Miss  McCarty,"  he  wrote — that  much 
he  owed  to  his  own  dignity,  and  that  should  be 
his  only  reproach.  The  rest  should  be  in  the 
tone  of  levity,  the  smile  that  shows  no  ache. 

DEAR  Miss  MCCARTY:  Of  course,  it  was  no 
surprise  to  me.  I  saw  it  coming  long  ago.  Mr. 
Ver  Plank  seems  to  me  a  most  estimable  young 
man.  You  will  be  very  congenial,  I  am  sure, 
and  very  happy.  Thank  you  for  letting  me  know 
among  the  first.  That  was  'bully  of  you !  Give 
[379] 


THE   VARMINT 

my  very  best  congratulations  to  Mr.  Ver  Plank 
and  tell  him  I  think  he's  a  very  lucky  fellow. 
Faithfully  yours, 

JACK. 

He  had  resolved  to  sign  formally  "Cordially 
yours — John  H.  Stover."  But  toward  the  end 
his  resolution  weakened.  He  would  be  faithful, 
even  if  she  were  not.  Perhaps,  when  she  read 
it  and  thought  it  over  she  would  feel  a  little 
remorse,  a  little  acute  sorrow.  Imbued  with  the 
thought,  he  stood  looking  at  the  letter,  which 
somehow  brought  a  little  consolation,  a  little 
pride  into  the  night  of  his  misery.  It  was  a 
good  letter — a  very  good  letter.  He  read  it  over 
three  times  and  then,  going  to  the  washstand, 
took  up  the  sponge  and  pressed  out  a  lachrymal 
drop  that  fell  directly  over  the  "Faithfully 
yours." 

It  made  a  blot  that  no  one  could  have  looked 
at  unmoved. 

He  hastily  sealed  the  letter  and  slipping  out 
the  house,  went  over  and  mailed  it  with  his 
own  hands.  It  was  the  farewell — he  would 
never  toil  out  his  heart  over  another.  And  with 
it  went  John  Stover,  the  faithful  cavalier. 
Another  John  Stover  had  arisen,  the  man  of 
heroic  sorrows. 

For  a  whole  week  faithfully  he  was  true  to  his 
[380] 


THE   VARMINT 

grief,  keeping  his  own  company,  eating  out  his 
heart,  suffering  as  only  that  first  deception  can 
inflict  sorrow.  And  he  sought  nothing  else.  He 
hoped — he  hoped  that  he  would  go  on  suffering 
for  years  and  years,  saddened  and  deceived. 

But,  somehow — though,  of  course,  deep  down 
within  him  nothing  would  ever  change — the 
gloom  gradually  lifted.  The  call  of  his  fellows 
began  to  be  heard  again.  The  glances  of  the  un- 
der formers  that  followed  his  public  appearances 
with  adoring  worship  began  to  please  him  once 
more. 

Finally,  one  afternoon,  he  stopped  in  at  Ap- 
pleby's  to  inspect  a  new  supply  of  dazzling  cra- 
vats. 

"  You've  got  the  first  choice,  Mr.  Stover,"  said 
Appleby  in  his  caressing  way.  "No  one's  had 
a  look  at  them  before  you." 

"  Well,  let's  look  'em  over,"  said  Stover,  with 
a  beginning  of  interest. 

"Look  at  them,"  said  Appleby;  "you're  a 
judge,  Mr.  Stover.  You  know  how  to  dress  in 
a  tasty  way.  Now,  really,  have  you  ever  seen 
anything  genteeler  than  them?  " 

Stover  fingered  them  and  his  eye  lit  up.  They 
certainly  were  exceptional  and  just  the  style 
that  was  becoming  to  his  blond  advantages.  He 
selected  six,  then  added  two  more  and,  finally, 
went  to  his  room  with  a  dozen,  where  he  tried 
[381] 


THE    VAKMINT 

them,  one  after  the  other,  before  his  mirror, 
smiling  a  little  at  the  effect. 

Then  he  went  to  his  bureau  and  relegated  the 
photograph  of  the  future  Mrs.  Ver  Plank  to  the 
rear  and  promoted  Miss  Dow  to  the  place  of 
honor. 

"  That's  over,"  he  said ;  "  but  she  nearly  ruined 
my  life!" 

In  which  he  was  wrong,  for  if  Miss  McCarty 
had  not  arrived  Appleby,  purveyor  of  Gents' 
Fancies,  would  never  have  sold  him  a  dozen 
most  becoming  neckties. 

When  the  Tennessee  Shad  came  in,  he  looked 
in  surprise. 

"  Hello,  better  news  to-day?  "  he  said  sympa- 
thetically. 

"  News?  "  said  Dink  in  a  moment  of  abstrac- 
tion. 

"  Why,  your  mother." 

"  Oh,  yes — yes,  she's  better,"  said  Dink  hastily, 
and  to  make  it  convincing  he  added  in  a  reverent 
voice,  "  thank  God !  " 

The  next  day  he  informed  McCarty  that  he 
had  changed  his  mind.  He  was  going  to  college ; 
they  would  have  four  glorious  years  together. 

"  Wrhat's  happened? "  said  Tough  mystified. 
"Better  news  from  home?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Dink,  "  stocks  have  gone  up." 

But  the  tragedy  of  his  life  had  one  result  that 
[382] 


THE    VARMINT 

came  near  wrecking  his  career  and  the  school's 
hope  for  victory  in  the  Andover  game.  During 
the  early  weeks  of  the  term  Dink  had  been  too 
engrossed  with  his  new  responsibilities  to  study, 
and  during  the  later  weeks  too  overwhelmed  by 
the  real  burden  of  life  to  think  of  such  techni- 
calities as  lessons.  Having  studied  the  prefer- 
ences and  dislikes  of  his  tyrants  he  succeeded, 
however,  in  bluffing  through  most  of  his  recita- 
tions with  the  loyal  support  of  Beekstein.  But 
The  Eoman  was  not  thus  to  be  circumvented, 
and  as  Dink,  in  the  Byronic  period  or  grief,  had 
no  heart  for  florid  improvisations  of  the  applause 
of  the  multitude  he  contented  himself,  whenever 
annoyed  by  his  implacable  persecutor,  The 
Eoman,  by  rising  and  saying  with  great  dignity : 

66  Not  prepared,  sir." 

The  blow  fell  one  week  before  the  Andover 
game,  when  such  blows  always  fall.  The  Roman 
called  him  up  after  class  and  informed  him  that, 
owing  to  the  paucity  of  evidence  in  his  daily 
appearances,  he  would  have  to  put  him  to  a 
special  examination  to  determine  whether  he 
had  a  passing  knowledge. 

The  school  was  in  dismay.  A  failure,  of 
course,  meant  disbarment  from  the  Andover 
game — the  loss  of  Stover,  who  was  the  strength 
of  the  whole  left  side. 

To  Dink,  of  course,  this  extraordinary  decree 
[383] 


THE   VARMINT 

was  the  crowning  evidence  of  the  determined 
hatred  of  The  Roman.  And  all  because  he  had, 
years  before,  mistaken  him  for  a  commercial 
traveler  and  called  him  "  Old  Cocky- wax ! " 

He  would  be  flunked — of  course  he  would  be 
flunked  if  The  Roman  had  made  up  his  mind  to 
do  it.  He  might  have  waited  another  week — 
after  the  Andover  game.  But  no,  his  plan  was 
to  keep  him  out  the  game,  which  of  course,  meant 
the  loss  of  the  captaincy,  which  every  one  ac- 
corded him. 

These  opinions,  needless  to  say,  were  shared 
by  all  well-wishers  of  the  eleven.  There  was 
even  talk,  in  the  first  moments  of  excitement,  of 
arraigning  The  Roman  before  the  Board  of  Trus- 
tees. 

The  examination  was  to  be  held  in  The  Roman's 
study  that  night.  Beekstein  and  Gumbo  hur- 
ried to  Dink's  assistance.  But  what  could  that 
avail  with  six  weeks'  work  to  cover! 

In  this  desperate  state  desperate  means  were 
suggested  by  desperate  characters.  Stover 
should  go  the  examination  padded  with  inter- 
linear, friendly  aids  to  translation.  A  commit- 
tee from  outside  should  then  convey  the  gigantic 
water  cooler  that  stood  in  the  hall  to  the  upper 
landing.  There  it  should  be  nicely  balanced  on 
the  topmost  step  and  a  string  thrown  out  the 
window,  which,  at  the  right  time,  should  be 
[384] 


THE   VARMINT 

pulled  by  three  patriots  from  other  Houses.  The 
water  cooler  would  descend  with  a  hideous  clat- 
ter, The  Roman  would  rush  from  his  study,  and 
Stover  would  be  given  time  to  refresh  his  mem- 
ory. 

Now,  Stover  did  not  like  this  plan.  He  had 
never  done  much  direct  cribbing,  as  that  species 
of  deception  made  him  uncomfortable  and 
seemed  devoid  of  the  high  qualities  of  dignity 
that  should  attend  the  warfare  against  the  Natu- 
ral Enemy. 

At  first  he  refused  to  enter  this  conspiracy, 
but  finally  yielded  in  a  half-hearted  way  when 
it  was  dinned  in  his  ears  that  he  was  only  meet- 
ing The  Roman  at  his  own  game,  that  he  was  be- 
ing persecuted,  that  the  school  was  being  sacri- 
ficed for  a  private  spite — in  a  word,  that  the  end 
must  be  looked  at  and  not  the  means  and  that 
the  end  was  moral  and  noble. 

Thus  partly  won  over,  Dink  'entered  The 
Roman's  study  that  night  with  portions  of  inter- 
linear translations  distributed  about  his  person 
and  whipped  up  into  a  rage  against  The  Roman 
that  made  him  forget  all  else. 

The  study  was  on  the  ground  floor — the  con- 
spirators were  to  wait  at  the  window  until 
Stover  should  have  received  the  examination 
paper  and  given  the  signal. 

The  Roman  nodded  as  Stover  entered  and, 
[385] 


THE   VARMINT 

motioning  him  to  a  seat,  gave  him  the  questions, 
saying: 

"I  sincerely  hope,  John,  you  are  able  to  an- 
swer these." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Stover  with  great  sar- 
casm. 

He  went  to  the  desk  by  the  window  and  sat 
down,  taking  out  his  pencil. 

There  was  a  shuffling  of  feet  and  the  scraping 
of  a  chair  across  the  room.  Stover  looked  up  in 
surprise. 

"  Take  your  time,  John,"  said  The  Roman,  who 
had  risen.  Then,  without  another  word,  he 
turned  and  left  the  room. 

Stover  smiled  to  himself.  He  knew  that  trick. 
He  waited  for  the  sudden  reopening  of  the  door, 
but  no  noise  came.  He  frowned  and,  mechan- 
ically looking  at  the  questions,  opened  his  book 
at  the  place  designated.  Then  he  raised  his 
head  and  listened  again. 

All  at  once  he  became  very  angry.  The 
Roman  was  putting  him  on  his  honor — he  had 
no  right  to  do  any  such  thing!  It  changed  all 
their  preparations.  It  was  a  low-down,  malig- 
nant trick.  It  took  away  all  the  elements  of 
danger  that  glorified  the  conspiracy.  It  made 
it  easy  and,  therefore,  mean. 

At    the    window    came    a    timid    scratching. 
Stover  shook  his  head.    The  Roman  would  re- 
[386] 


THE   VAKMINT 

turn.  Then  he  would  give  the  signal  willingly. 
So  he  folded  his  arms  sternly  and  waited — but 
no  footsteps  slipped  along  outside  the  door.  The 
Roman  had  indeed  left  him  to  his  honor. 

A  great,  angry  lump  came  in  his  throat,  angry 
tears  blurred  his  eyes.  He  hated  The  Roman,  he 
despised  him;  it  was  unfair,  it  was  malicious, 
but  he  could  not  do  what  he  would  have  done. 
There  wus  a  difference. 

All  at  once  the  bowels  of  the  House  seemed 
rent  asunder,  as  down  the  stairs,  bumping  and 
smashing,  went  the  liberated  water  cooler.  In- 
stantly a  chorus  of  shrieks  arose,  steps  rushing 
to  and  fro,  and  then  quiet. 

Still  The  Roman  did  not  come.  Stover  glanced 
at  the  paragraphs  selected,  and  oh,  mockery  and 
bitterness,  two  out  of  three  happened  to  be  pas- 
sages he  had  read  with  Beekstein  not  an  hour 
before.  His  eye  went  over  them,  he  remembered 
them  perfectly. 

"If  that  ain't  the  limit!"  h-e  said,  choking. 
"  To  know  'em  after  all.  Of  course,  now  I  can't 
do  'em.  Of  course,  now  if  I  hand  'em  in  the 
old  rhinoceros  will  think  I  cribbed  'em.  Of  all 
the  original  Jobs  I  am  the  worst!  This  is  the 
last  straw ! " 

When  half  an  hour  later  The  Roman  returned 
Stover  was  sitting  erect,  with  folded  arms  and 
lips  compressed. 

[387] 


THE    VARMIXT 

"Ah,  Stover,  all  through?"  said  The  Roman, 
as  though  the  House  had  not  just  been  blown 
asunder.  "  Hand  in  your  paper." 

Stover  stiffly  arose  and  handed  him  the  fools- 
cap. The  Roman  took  it  with  a  frowning  little 
glance.  At  the  top  was  written  in  big,  defiant 
letters:  "John  H.  Stover." 

Below  there  was  nothing  at  all. 

Stover  stood,  swaying  from  heel  to  heel,  watch- 
ing The  Roman. 

"  What  the  deuce  is  he  looking  at?  "  he  thought 
in  wonder,  as  The  Roman  sat  silently  staring  at 
the  blank  sheet. 

Finally  he  turned  over  the  page,  as  though 
carefully  perusing  it,  poised  a  pencil,  and  said 
in  a  low  voice,  without  glancing  up : 

"Well,  John,  I  think  this  will  just  about 
pass." 


[388] 


XXVI 

The  football  season  had  ended  victoriously. 
The  next  week  brought  the  captaincy  for  the 
following  year  to  Stover  by  unanimous  approval. 
But  the  outlook  for  the  next  season  was  of  the 
weakest;  only  four  men  would  remain.  The 
charge  that  he  would  have  to  lead  would  be  a 
desperate  one.  This  sense  of  responsibility  was, 
perhaps,  more  acute  in  Stover  than  even  the 
pleasure-giving  sense  of  the  attendant  admira- 
tion of  the  school  whenever  he  appeared  among 
them. 

Other  thoughts,  too,  were  working  within  him. 
Ever  since  the  extraordinary  outcome  of  his  ex- 
amination at  the  hands  of  The  Koman  Stover 
had  been  in  a  ferment  of  confusion.  The 
Roman's  action  amazed,  then  perplexed,  then 
doubly  confounded  him. 

If  The  Roman  was  not  his  enemy,  had  not 
been  all  this  time  his  persistent,  malignant  foe, 
what  then?  What  was  left  to  him  to  cling  to? 
If  he  admitted  this,  then  his  whole  career  would 
have  to  be  reconstructed.  Could  it  be  that,  after 
all,  month  in  and  month  out,  it  had  been 
The  Roman  himself  who  had  stood  as  his  friend 
[389] 


THE   VARMINT 

in  all  the  hundred  and  one  scrapes  in  which  he 
had  tempted  Fate?  And  pondering  on  this 
gravely,  Dink  Stover,  in  the  portion  of  his  soul 
that  was  consecrated  to  fair  play,  was  mightily 
exercised. 

He  consulted  Tough  MeCarty,  as  he  consulted 
him  now  on  everything  that  lay  deeper  than  the 
lip  currency  of  his  fellows.  They  were  return- 
ing from  a  long  walk  over  the  early  December 
roads  in  the  grays  and  drabs  of  the  approaching 
twilight.  Stover  had  been  unusually  silent,  and 
the  mood  settled  on  him1,  as,  turning  the  hill,  they 
saw  the  clustered  skyline  of  the  school  through 
the  bared  branches. 

"  What  the  deuce  makes  you  so  solemncholy  ?  " 
said  Tough. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  said  Dink  with  dignity. 

"Excuse  me." 

"  I  was  thinking,"  said  Dink,  rousing  himself, 
"that  I've  been  all  wrong." 

"  I  don't  get  that." 

"  I  mean  The  Roman." 

"How  so?" 

"  Tough,  you  know  down  at  the  bottom  I  have 
a  sneaking  suspicion  that  he's  been  for  me  right 
along.  It's  a  rotten  feeling,  but  I'm  afraid  it's 
so." 

"  Shouldn't  wonder.  Have  you  spoken  to 
him?" 

[390] 


THE   VARMINT 

"  No." 

"Why  not?" 

"  I'm  not  sure.  And  then,  I  don't  know  just 
how  to  get  to  it." 

"Jump  right  in  and  tackle  him  around  the 
knees,"  said  Tough. 

"I  think  I  will,"  said  Dink,  who  understood 
the  metaphor. 

They  went  up  swinging  briskly,  watching  in 
silence  the  never  stale  spectacle  of  the  panorama 
of  the  school. 

"  I  say,  Dink,"  said  Tough  suddenly,  "  Sis  is 
going  to  put  the  clamps  on  that  T.  Willyboy, 
Ver  Plank." 

"  Really — when?"  said  Dink,  surprised  that 
the  news  brought  him  no  emotion, 

"  Next  month." 

Stover  laughed  a  little  laugh. 

"  You  know,"  he  said  with  a  bit  of  confusion, 
"  I  fancied  I  was  terribly  in  love  with  Josephine 
myself — for  a  little  while." 

"Sure,"  said  Tough  without  surprise.  "Jo 
would  flirt  with  anything  that  had  long  pants 
on." 

"  Yes,  she's  a  flirt,"  said  Stover,  and  the  judg- 
ment sounded  like  the  swish  of  shears  cutting 
away  angels'  wings. 

They  separated  at  the  campus  and  Stover  went 
toward  the  Kennedy.  Half-way  there  an  excited 
[391] 


THE    VARMIXT 

little  urchin  came  rushing  up,  pulling  off  his 
cap. 

"Well,  what  is  it,  youngster?"  said  Stover, 
who  didn't  recognize  him. 

"  Please,  sir,"  said  the  young  hero  worshiper, 
producing  a  photograph  of  the  team  from  under 
his  jacket,  "  would  you  mind  putting  your  name 
on  this?  I  should  be  awfully  obliged." 

Stover  took  it  and  wrote  his  name. 

"Who  is  this?" 

"  Williams,  Jigs  Williams,  sir,  over  in  the 
Cleve." 

"Well,  Jigs,  there  you  are." 

"  Oh,  thank  you.     Say " 

"Well?" 

"  Aren't  yon  going  to  have  an  individual  pho- 
tograph?" 

"No,  of  course  not,"  said  Stover  with  only 
outward  gruffness. 

"All  the  fellows  are  crazy  for  one,  sir." 

"  Run  along,  now,"  said  Stover  with  a  pleased 
laugh.  He  stood  on  the  steps,  watching  the 
elated  Jigs  go  scudding  across  the  Circle,  and 
then  went  into  the  Kennedy.  In  his  box  was 
a  letter  of  congratulation  from  Miss  Dow.  He 
read  it  smiling,  and  then  took  up  the  photo- 
graph and  examined  it  more  critically. 

"  She's  a  dear  little  girl,"  he  said.  "  Devilish 
smart  figure." 

[392] 


THE   VARMINT 

Miss  Dow,  of  course,  was  very  young.  She 
was  only  twenty. 

That  night,  after  an  hour's  brown  meditation, 
he  suddenly  rose  and,  descending  the  stairs, 
knocked  at  the  sanctum  sanctorum. 

"Come  in,"  said  the  low,  musical  voice. 

Stover  entered  solemnly. 

"  Ah,  it's  you,  John,"  said  The  Roman  with  a 
smile. 

"  Yes,  sir,  it's  me,"  said  Stover,  leaning  up 
against  the  door. 

The  Roman  glanced  up  quickly  and,  seeing 
what  was  coming,  took  up  the  paper-cutter  and 
began  to  twist  it  through  his  fingers.  There  was 
a  silence,  long  and  painful. 

"  Well  ? "  said  The  Roman  in  a  queer  voice. 

"Mr.  Hopkins,"  said  Dink,  advancing  a  step. 
"  I  guess  I've  been  all  wrong.  I  haven't  come 
to  you  before,  as  I  suppose  I  ought,  because  I've 
had  to  sort  of  think  it  over.  But  now,  sir,  I've 
come  in  to  have  it  out." 

"I'm  glad  you  have,  John." 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  one  question." 

"Yes?" 

"Have  you,  all  this  time,  really  been  standing 
by  me,  yanking  me  out  of  all  the  messes  I  got 
in?" 

"  Well,  that  expresses  it,  perhaps." 

"Then  I've  been  way  off,"  said  Stover  sol- 
[393] 


THE    VARMINT 

emnly.  "  Why,  sir,  all  this  time  I  thought  you 
were  down  on  me,  had  it  in  for  me,  right  from 
the  first." 

"  From  our  first  meeting? "  said  The  Roman, 
with  a  little  chuckle.  "Perhaps,  John,  you 
didn't  give  me  credit — shall  I  say,  for  a  sense 
of  humor? " 

"Yes,  sir."  Stover  looked  a  moment  at  his 
polished  boot  and  then  resolutely  at  The  Roman. 
"  Mr.  Hopkins,  I've  been  all  wrong.  I've  been 
unfair,  sir ;  I  wrant  to  apologize  to  you." 

"Thank  you,"  said  The  Roman,  and  then  be- 
cause they  were  Anglo-Saxons  they  shook  hands 
and  instantly  dropped  them. 

"Mr.  Hopkins,"  said  Stover  after  a  moment, 
"I  must  have  given  you  some  pretty  hard 
times?  " 

"You  were  always  full  of  energy,  John." 

"I  don't  see  what  made  you  stand  by  me, 
sir." 

"John,"  said  The  Roman,  leaning  back  and 
caging  his  fingers,  "  it  is  a  truth  which  it  is,  per- 
haps, unwise  to  publish  abroad,  and  I  shall  have 
to  swear  you  to  the  secret.  It  is  the  boy  whose 
energy  must  explode  periodically  and  often  dis- 
astrously, it  is  the  boy  who  gives  us  the  most 
trouble,  who  wears  down  our  patience  and  tries 
our  souls,  who  is  really  the  most  worth  while." 

"Not  the  high  markers  and  the  gospel 
[394] 


THE   VARMINT 

sharks?"  said  Stover,  too  amazed  to  choose  the 
classic  line. 

"  Sh ! "  said  the  Roman,  laying  his  finger  on 
his  lips. 

Stover  felt  as  though  he  held  the  secret  of 
kings. 

"  And  now,  John,"  said  The  Roman  in  a  mat- 
ter-of-fact tone,  "  since  you  are  behind  the  scenes, 
one  thing  more.  The  real  teacher,  the  real  in- 
structor, is  not  I,  it  is  you.  We  of  the  Faculty 
can  only  paint  the  memory  with  facts  that  are 
like  the  writing  in  the  sand.  The  real  things 
that  are  learned  are  learned  from  you.  Now, 
forgive  me  for  being  a  little  serious.  You  are 
a  leader.  It  is  a  great  responsibility.  They're 
all  looking  up  at  you,  copying  you.  You  set  the 
standard;  set  a  manly  one." 

"I  think,  sir,  I've  tried  to  do  that — lately," 
said  Stover,  nodding. 

"  And  now,  in  the  House — bring  out  some  of 
the  younger  fellows." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  There's  Norris.  Perhaps  a  little  serious  talk 
— only  a  word  dropped." 

"You're  right,  sir;  I  understand  what  you 
mean." 

"  Then  there's  Berbecker." 

"He's  only  a  little  fresh,  sir;  there's  good 
stuff  in  him." 

[395] 


THE   YABMINT 

"And  then,  John,  there's  a  boy  who's  been 
under  early  disadvantages,  but  a  bright  boy,  full 
of  energy,  good  mind,  but  needs  to  be  taken  in 
hand,  with  a  little  kindness." 

"  Who,  sir?  » 

"  Bellefont." 

"  Bellefont ! "  said  Stover,  exploding.  "  I  beg 
your  pardon,  sir.  You're  wrong  there.  That 
kid  is  hopeless.  Nothing  will  do  him  any  good. 
He's  a  perfect  little  nuisance.  He's  a  thorough- 
going, out-and-out  little  varmint!" 

The  Eoman  tapped  the  table  and,  looking  far 
out  through  the  darkened  window,  smiled  the 
gentle  smile  of  one  who  has  watched  the  ever- 
recurrent  miracle  of  humanity,  the  struggling 
birth  of  the  man  out  of  the  dirtied,  hopeless 
cocoon  of  the  boy. 

And  Stover,  suddenly  beholding  that  smile, 
all  at  once  stopped,  blushed  and  understood! 


THE  END 


[396] 


GENERAL  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA— BERKELEY 

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